No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace, Such our love, 8c. We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale, Such our love, &c. As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows, strokes. Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France, Such our love, &c. In our realm may the fury of faction long cease, crease ; And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find, That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove kind. Then we'll defend our liberty, our country, and our laws, And teach our late posterity to fight in Free dom's cause, That they like our ancestors bold, &c. THE TAILOR FELL THRO' THE BED, THIMBLE AN' A'. This air is the march of the Corporation of Tailors * The second and fourth stanzas mine. are Probably alluding to the custom of the Incorporations of the Royal Boroughs, in Scotland, perambulating annually the boundaries of their property.-Ed. LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. THERE is in several collections, the old song of Leader Haughs and Yarrow. It seems to have been the work of one of our itinerant minstrels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion of his song, Minstrel Burn. When Phæbus bright, the azure skies With golden rays enlight'neth, Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick’neth : And with delight goes thorough, O’er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. When Aries the day and night In equal length divideth, Nae langer be abideth ; Casts aff her former sorrow, In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. E Pan playing on his aiten reed, And shepherds him attending, Do here resort their flocks to feed, The hills and haughs commending, With cur and kent upon the bent, Sing to the sun, good-morrow, And swear nae fields mair pleasure yields Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. An house there stands on Leaderside, Surmounting my descriving, With rooms sae rare, and windows fair, Like Dedalus' contriving; Men passing by, do aften cry, In sooth it hath nae marrow; It stands as sweat on Leaderside, As Newark does on Yarrow. A mile below wha lists to ride, They'll hear the mavis singing; Into St. Leonard's banks she'll bide, Sweet birks her head o’erhinging ; The lintwhite loud and Progne proud, With tuneful throats and narrow, Into St. Leonard's banks they sing As sweetly as in Yarrow. The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee, With nimble wing she sporteth; Where Philomel resorteth: I'll bid you a good-morrow, O’er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. Park, Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, The East and Western Mainses, The wood of Lauder's fair enough, The corns are good in Blainshes; That if ye search all thorow Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. In Burmill Bog, and Whiteslade Shaws, The fearful hare she haunteth; Brig-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws, And Chapel-wood frequenteth ; Yet when she irks, to Kaidsly birks She rins, and sighs for sorrow, That she should leave sweet Leader-Haughs, And cannot win to Yarrow. |