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Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,
Here's Kenmure's health in wine ;
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.
He kiss'd his ladie's hand, Willie,
He kiss'd his ladie's hand;
When he draws his bludie brand.
His ladie's cheek was red, Willie,
His ladie's cheek was red;
Which smelld a deadlie feud.
Here's him that's far awa', Willie,
Here's him that's far awa'!
The rose that's like the snaw.
preceding that on which he suffered, he wrote to a certain nobleman, stab ing that he died firm in principles of adherence to the Chevalier, “whom he believed to be the legitimate son of King James the Second *."
Among the peasantry of Nithsdale and Galloway, his memory is still revered. He was a virtuous nobleman, calm, sensible, resolute, and resigned, and a devout member of the protestant church. “ He had ever lived," as he said in the letter to which we have already alluded, “and would die, in the profession of the protestant religion.”
* See Account of the Rebellion in 1715--16, by Geo. Charles, 2 vols. 8vo.
FAIR WIDOW, ARE YE WAUKING.
0, wha's at my chamber door?
“ Fair widow, are ye wauking?"
Your love lies a' in tauking,
Sweet like an April meadow;
And bosom of a widow.
“O widow, wilt thou let me in,
I'm pauky, wise, and thrifty,
An' little mair than fifty."
What signifies how pauky
In love you're bụt a gawky.
“ Then, widow, let these guineas speak,
That powerfully plead clinken,
And nae mair love will think on,"
These court indeed, I maun confess,
I think they make you young, sir,
Affection than your tongue, sir,
TOMB OF MY FATHERS.
Subdu'd by misfortunes, and bow'd down with pain,
I sought on the bosom of peace to recline: I hied to the home of my fathers again,
But the home of my fathers no longer was mine.
The look that spoke gladness and welcome was gone;'
The blaze that shone bright in the hall was no more : A stranger was there, with a bosom of stone,
And cold was his eye as I enter'd his door.
'Twas his, deaf to pity, to tenderness dead,
The falling to crush, and the humble to spurn; But I staid not his scorn,—from his mansion I fled,
And my beating heart vow'd never more to return.
When home' shall receive me, one home yet I know,
O’er its gloomy recess see the pine-branches wave, 'Tis the tomb of my fathers. The world is my foe,
And all my inheritance now is a grave.
'Tis the tomb of my fathers, the grey moisten'd walls,
Declining to earth, speak, emphatic, decay : The gate, off its hinge, and half-opening, calls
Approach, most unhappy, thy dwelling of clay."
Alas! thou sole dwelling of all I hold dear,
How little this meeting once augur'd my breast ! From a wanderer accept, oh my fathers, this tear,
Receive him, the last of your race, to your rest.
AND CAN THY BOSOM BEAR THE THOUGHT.
AIR-Loudon's bonnie Woods and Braes,
And can thy bosom bear the thought
To part frae love and me, laddie?
Sae fondly pledged by thee, laddie ?
Can'st thou forget the midnight hour,
You'd ne'er loe ane but me, laddie.
Gin ye part wi' me, laddie.
my rosy cheek,
But love, and live wi' me, laddie. But soon those cheeks will lose their red, Those eyes in endless sleep be hid, And 'neath the turf the heart be laid,
That beats for love, and thee, laddie. Wilt thou-wilt thou gang and leave me, Win heart and then deceive me? Oh! that heart will break, believe me,
Gin ye part frae me, laddie.
You'll meet a form mair sweet and fair,
Where rarer beauties shine, laddie,
A love sae true as mine, laddie.
Will shiarper be than mine, laddie.