Give poets their choice of Parnassian bays,

Give wealth's pampered puppets the crowd's passing praise;
Away with such shadows! yon green trysting tree
And the smile of my Jessie, dear Jessie, for me!

O WHY SO LONG ABSENT?

O WHY so long absent, beloved Jeanie Stuart,
The home of thy childhood so far distant from?
Far friends may be kind, yet the darling that thou art
Should surely forget not thy friends left at home.

Return, then, sweet truant! my soul longs to see thee, The bud always fair, now a rose in full bloom;

The winter that now storms and scowls, would with me be,

Quick changed into summer, if thou wert at home.

Come, welcome as calm after storm on the ocean,
Come, fair as the dawn after darkness and gloom;
Come, proving how vain was the fear that my chosen
Could ever forget me,-O come, loved one, come!

Come, proving how well may my joy and my pride be

Our sweet gloaming love-trysts once more to resume Come, shewing that death, only death can divide thee Again from thy lover, then O hasten home!

;

WHEN I AM FAR AWAY.

O'ER yonder ocean wide and wild

When I am far away,

Where never more thy voice, sweet child,
My spirit sad may sway,

This thought will cheer the minstrel's heart,
Forget though others may,

That thou wilt sing my songs, sweet child, When I am far away.

Unknown to fortune's fickle smile

Though oft the minstrel sings,
If but his lays are loved meanwhile,
He'll laugh at crowns and kings.
And thus it is I comfort bring

From out life's darkest day,

Since thou, sweet child, my songs will sing When I am far away.

BONNIE ISABEL.

GIVE fortune's favoured sons to roam
However far they please from home,
And find their eventide delights
'Mong Rhenish groves or Alpine heights,
But give to me, by Shira's flow,

-With none to see and none to know-
Love's tryst to keep, love's tale to tell,
And kiss my bonnie Isabel !

A rustic maiden though she be,
'Twould puzzle all the graces three
To say where in her form or face.
They could have added to her grace.
To see her tripping through the grove,
So fair, so full of life and love,
You'd think our glen some Elfland dell,
And Elfland's queen sweet Isabel.

Ye guardian spirits hovering near
The Cot where dwells this maiden dear,
Beware the glances of her eyes-—
They'd make you to forget the skies.
And then her lips-take care, take care!
If once you'd taste the nectar there
I fear you'd get as fond's mysel'
Of kissing bonnie Isabel!

THE LASS WI' THE BRICHT GOWDEN HAIR.

AIR-Jessie the Flower o' Dunblane.

The pride of all Dee-side is fair Jeanie Stuart,
How dearly I love her nae words can declare:
The mair I see of her, the mair my fond true heart
Is charmed by the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.
Her smile is the dawn breaking o'er the horizon,

Her voice is the lilt of the lark in the air;

Nae mortal can look on her face all enticing

And love not the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.

What care I who say I've in vain set my

mind on

A lass of whose smile richer wooers despair? Sic fools naething ken of the love-light I find in

Ilk look of the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. O for that blest day this dear maid sae enchanting Is mine, and mine only-my life's darling care! This world would to me be a weary world, wanting The love of yon lass wi' the bricht gowden hair.

SWEET ANNIE BHAN OF INVERGLEN.

AIR-Hieland Harry.

Chorus-Fair Annie Bhàn of Inverglen,
Dear Annie Bhàn of Inverglen—
Mair bonnie than the Maytime dawn
Is Annie Bhàn of Inverglen.

Ance to young Peggie of Lochgair
I thought my heart for ever gane,
But that was ere I kent how fair
Was Annie Bhàn of Inverglen.
Sweet Annie Bhàn, &c.

Fair fa her eye so sweetly sly,

Its glances hae bewitched me clean! Baith night and day nae thought I hae But Annie Bhàn of Inverglen.

Sweet Annie Bhàn, &c.

J

O that less wealthy were her kin,
Or I of rivals rich had nane!
Then micht I hae less fear to win
This bonnie maid of Inverglen.
Sweet Annie Bhàn, &c.

Yet if her mind I rightly spae

She yet may be my bosom's queen, For far too kind to cause me wae

Is Annie Bhàn of Inverglen.

Sweet Annie Bhàn, &c.

MY MORVEN MAID.

LET minstrels to true beauty blind
Think 'tis to town-bred belles confined,
And, fooled by their pert, pretty ways,
To these alone confine their praise:
I own them fair enough to see,
Though rustic graces best please me,
And most of all, the charms displayed
By my own loving Morven maid.

Let high-born beauties, proud as fair,
Bedeck themselves with jewels rare,
A richer jewel far hath she
In her own sweet simplicity.