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They shall hing nae mair upon the bush in our kail-yard, They shall hing nae mair upon the bush in our kail-yard; They shall bob on Athole green, and there they will be

seen, And the rocks and the trees shall be their safeguard.

O my bonnie bonnie flouirs, they sball bloom ower

them a',

When they gang to the dancin' in Carlisle ha';
Where Donald and Sandy, I'm sure, will ding them a',
When they gang to the dancin' in Carlisle ha'.

O what' will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa?
O what will I do for a lad, when Sandy gangs awa ?
I will awa to Edinburgh, and win a penny fee,
And see gin ony bonnie laddie 'll fancy me.

He's coming frae the north that's to marry me,
He's coming frae the north that's to marry me;
A feather in his bonnet, a rose abune his bree;
He's a bonnie bonnie lad, an yon be he.*

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The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud an' he's great ;
His mind is ta’en up wi' the things o' the state :
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep;
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.

Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thought she'd look well;
M-Clish's ae daughter o Claverse-ba' Lee,
A pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouther'd, as guid as when new,
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat-
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?

* From Mr Hogg's Jacobite Relics.

He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie-
And rapped at the yett o' Claverse-ba' Lee;
“ Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben :
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen.”

Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine;
“ And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?"
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa down.

And when she cam ben, he boued fu' low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird, when the lady said, Na,
And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa.

Dumfounder'd he was, but nae sigh did he gie;
He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie ;
And aften he thought, as be gaed through the glen,
“ She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen.”

And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
“ Oh ! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten-
I was daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen.”

Neist time that the Laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm in arm to the kirk on the

green: Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.*

THE KAIL-BROSE OF AULD SCOTLAND.

TUNE-The Roast-beef of Old England.

When our ancient forefathers agreed wi' the laird
For a wee piece o' grund, to be a kail-yard,
It was to the brose that they paid their regard ;

01 the kail-brose o' auld Scotland,
And O! the auld Scottish kail-brose.

* Supposed, with the exception of the two last verses, (which are supplementary,) to be the composicion of the accomplished authoress of Marriage.

When Fergus, the first of our kings, I suppose,
At the head of his nobles had vanquish'd our foes,
Just before they began they'd been feasting on brose;

O! the kail-brose, &c.

Our sodgers were drest in their kilts and short hose, Wi'their bonnets and belts, which their dress did compose, And a bag of oatmeal on their backs to be brose ;

01 the kail-brose, &c.

At our annual elections for bailies or mayor,
Nae kick-shaws, or puddings, or tarts, were seen there ;
But a cog o' gude brose was the favourite fare :

O! the kail-brose, &c.

But when we remember the English, our foes,
Our ancestors beat them wi' very few blows;
John Bull oft cried, 0 1 let us rin—they've got brose !

O! the kail-brose, &c.

But, now that the thistle is joined to the rose,
And the English nae langer are counted our foes,
We've lost a great deal of our relish for brose :

O! the kail-brose, &c.

Yet each true-hearted Scotsman, by nature jocose,
Likes always to feast on a cogue o' gude brose ;
And, thanks be to Heaven, we've plenty of those :

0! the kail-brose of auld Scotland,
And O! the auld Scottish kail-brose !

* Said to have been written by Sheriff, an Aberdeenshire poet, who published two volumes of poems, and regarding whom the following anecdote is told :

When Burns first came to Edinburgh, in the end of the year 1786, he applied to one of the most respectable printers in town, and ordered a quantity of prospectuses of the second edition of his poems. He had shaken off but little of his professional mould ; his dress was by no means gay; and he had acquired a very small portion of the reputation he afterwards at. tained to. Of course, he did not appear in the eyes of an Edinburgh tradesman the most promising customer in the world. So much, indeed, had he the appearance of something the reverse, that when he called for his prospectuses, and began to talk of having the work itself printed, Mr with great politeness of manner, hinted at a custom which obtained among men of his profession, namely, to require payment by advance, in the case of doing business for the first time with strangers. At this ungracious insi. nuation, the dark cheek of Burns flushed in a moment with the brightest crimson, and pulling a considerable quantity of money from his pocket, he eagerly demanded what he had to pay, tabled the amount, and instantly left the place, notwithstanding all that the printer could say in palliation of his suspicions.

OH, ARE YE SLEEPIN', MAGGIE?

TANNAHILL.

TUNE-Sleepy Maggie.
O, ARE ye sleepin', Maggie?

0, are ye sleepin', Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn

Is roarin' o'er the warlock craigie!

· Mirk and rainy is the night;

No a starn in a' the carie;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,

And winds drive on wi' winter's fury.

Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank;

The rifted wood roars wild and drearie;
Loud the iron yett does clank;

And cry o' howlets maks me eerie.

Aboon my breath I daurna speak,

For fear I raise your waukrife daddy;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek;

O rise, rise, my bonny lady!

She oped the door; she let him in;

He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidie ;

A multitudinous impression of Burns's poems was issued next spring from a rival printing-house, and Mr cursed the mal-a-propos cautiousness which had lost him so excellent and so promising a job. With the usual blindness of all persons connected with his profession, which supposes, that because one thing has succeeded, another thing of the same external nature will also succeed, he resolved not to let slip another opportunity of printing the effusions of a rustic muse. It fell to the lot of Mr Sheriff' to afford him this opportunity. The Aberdeenshire poet was one of the very first of those individuals who were encouraged by the success of Burns to attempt similar poetical publications. Mr , the printer, agreed, without a moment's hesitation, to undertake the risk of putting his lucubrations into the shape of a book. An enormous edition was printed in two duodecimo volumes. The work was published; but, alas for the calculations of the publisher, although the poetry possessed a very respectable degree of merit, and seemed to be exactly of the same sort with that of the Ayrshire bard, a tithe of it did not sell. The lucky moment and the lucky man were lost; and Mr , in addition to his former negative misfortune, had now to regret one of a positive nature, and which was ten times harder to bear.

This anecdote, the poetical justice of which is very striking, may be depended on as true, being derived from the memory of a respectable printer, who was in Mr 's employment at the time when the whole circum. stances took place.

Blaw your warst, ye wind and rain,

Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye!

Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,

Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
What care I for howlet's cry,

For boor-tree bank and warlock craggie !

WE'LL MEET BESIDE THE DUSKY

GLEN.

TANNAHILL.

TUNE-There grows a bonnie Brier Bush. We'll meet beside the dusky glen on yon burn-side, Where the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn-side :

Though the broomy knowes be green,

Yet there we may be seen;
But we'll meet-we'll meet at e'en, down by yon

burnside.

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I'll lead thee to the birken bower on yon burn-side,
Sae sweitly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn-

side :
There the busy prying eye

Ne'er disturbs the lover's joy,
While in other's arms they lie, down by yon burn-side.
Awa, ye rude unfeelin' crew, frae

yon burn-side ! Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn-side:

There fancy smooths her theme,

By the sweetly murmurin' stream, And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn

side.

Now the plantin' taps are tinged wi' gowd on yon

burn-side, And gloamin' draws her foggie shroud o'er yon burn

side :

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