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Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa ;
Here's a health to Charlie t, the chief of the clart

Although that his band be but sma'!
May Liberty meet with success,

May prudence protect her frae evil ; May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,

And wander the road to the devil.

Here's a health to them that's away

And here's to them that's awa;
Here's a health to Tammie S, the Norlan laddie,

That lives at the lug o' the law!
Here's freedom to him that would read,

And freedom to him that would write;
There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard,

But they whom the truth would indite.

The fragments here spoken of, we subjoing in order that the curiosity of our teaders may be gratified:

FRAGMENT 1st.
Air..The ither morn as I forlorri.

Yon wandering rill that marks the hill,

And glances o'er the břae, Sir,
Slides by a bower, where many a flower

Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir;

There Damon tay, with Sylvia gay,

To love they thought nae crime, Sir ; 'The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang,

While Damon's heart beat time, Sir.

+ Nr Fox.

| Lord Erskine.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa,
Here's Maitland, and Wycombe, and wha does na like 'era

Be built in a hole o' the wa'!
Here's timmer that's red at the heart,

Here's fruit that is sound at the core :
May he that would turn the Buff and Blue coat,

Be turned to the back o' the door,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa,
Here's chieftain M‘Leod, a chieftain worth gowd,

Though bred amang mountains o' snaw.
Here's friends on baith sides o' the Forth,

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed; And wha would betray old Albign's rightę,

May they never eat of her bread.

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OLXIX.

SOLDIER, REST ! THY WARFARE O'ER.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battl'd fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking, In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing;
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of battl'd fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking,

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

Armours elang, nor war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here,

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.

Yet the lark's shrill fife may come,

At the day-break, from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow, Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor wardens challenge here, Here's no war-steeds neigh and champing, Shouting clans, nor squadron stamping.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

While our slymberous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillie. Sleep! the deer is in his den,

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
Think not of the rising sun,
For, at dawning, to assail ye,
Here no bugle sound reveillie,

CLXX.

ALL IN THE MERRY WHITSUNTIDE.

All in the merry Whitsuntide,

When gay, gay flowers are springing, And pretty birds, on every side,

In the sunny groves are singing, When throstles pipe the woods among, We heed not the Robin's slender song.

But when blustering winter strips the trees,

And summer birds are sleeping,
His lonely chirp hath power to please,

While he perks at the casement-peeping ;
O! then he's caress'd, and his chaunt is blest,
As he brushes the snow with his ruddy breast.

Come in, come in, thou bonny Robin,

And feed on the hawthorn berry,
Full many a warbler we may note,
Of brighter plume, and louder throat,

But none with heart so merry.

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