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Farewell for aye: a salt tear dims
The eye, that never wept before ;
Our mortal pilgrimage is o’er,
And now we part to meet no more!

Our lay of joy is past and gone,
That once in vaulted halls we sung;
Alas! our final peal hath rung
Of mirth, high dames and lords among :

And now we gaze with sadness on
The narrow home where song must end;
There no merry lays ascend
Where my feeble footsteps wend.

Here on this oak that bourgeons fair,
I'll hang thy wires of witching tone;
The passing breeze will cause them moan,
And swell my requiem when I'm gone.

The traveller faint will list'ning stare,
And marvel whence thy sounds proceed, 107
The fairy king in buxom weed,
Will leave his dance to hear thy rede.


She'll hear thee woo'd by wandering gale,
Rise sweetly in thy midnight song,
*Now, rapid roll, full ton'd, and strong,
Now, low and dying, weep along.

Oh! she will hear thee oft bewail
The fate of lovers true, and tell
How many an evil tide befell
Maids, who have lov'd but all too well.

The steel-clad knight as home be wends, From battle toils, and sieges dire, Will pause, and check his courser's fire, And under thy old oak retire:

For, lo! thy song of triumph blends Its warlike notes with rustling breeze; And falling, rising, through the trees, Mimes his old hall's festivities.


O Harp! be still a little while,
Nor wake thy dirge of, melting numbers,
Stay till thy master calmly slumbers,
Where no bale his bliss encumbers.

Now, take with thee his last faint smile,
And benison, in death's arms given,
Oh now begin thy mournful steven,
And waft my soul on it to heaven!


3. Neilson, Printer.


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A coggie o' ale, and a pickle ait meal . . .
Adown the green dell, near the Abbey's

remains . . . . . . note
Again rejoicing nature sees . . . .'.
Again the happy day returns ..

Ah! Mary, sweetest maid, farewell . . .
All in the merry Whitsuntide . . .
All white hang the bushes o'er Elaw's sweet stream
Amid Loch-Caterine's scenery wild . . .
A moment pause, ye British fair . note
And art thou gone, for ever gone . . .
And can thy bosom bear the thought
And has she then fail'd in her truth , note
As I came in by our gate end
At the close of the day in the sacred Aisle
Auld Marget, in the fauld she sits . note
Auld Rob, the laird o' muckle land
Away! let nought to love displeasing . note

. . . 424
Burns . . 39

. . . 184
. . . . 270

Joanna Baillie 157
J.B. . . 306
. .

John Sim» . 102
J. Goldie

. . . . 292

Anderson 201

1 , . . 165

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Beyond Busaco's mountains dun

Blow on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed

Blythely I hae screwed my pipes .
By the side of a mountain, o'ershadowed with trees

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Can a crown give content . . note
Claudine liv'd contented and peace was her lot
Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise . note
Come live with me, and be my love
Come o'er the sea
Coup sent a challenge frae Dunbar


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Faintly as tolls the evening chime, • note Moore
Fair dream of my slumber, bad thoughts of my waking W. Reader
Far lone amang the highland hills, •


Tannahill 4:29 Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

Byron Farewell, oh sweet hope! I have wept thee in sadness M. A. R. 299 For many a wistful hour to pity dear note

298 From his booth on the hill, the sad' shepherd retires · Robt. Glassford 175 From my slumber I woke at the dead hour of

night . . . . . note J. Findlay 454

Gie me a lass wi' a lump o' land
Gloomy winter's now awa'
Glowing with love, on fire for fame
Go, lovely rose!
Go round, my wheel, go round,

Ramsay Tannahill s 83 From" Paul's Letters" 431 note E. Waller 289 note Gott. Aug. Burder 440

Happy the world in that blest age
Have you not seen the timid tear
Have you sailed on the breast of the deep
Here beneath this willow sleepeth
Her hair was like the Cromla mist
Her kiss was soft and sweet
Here's to them that's awa •

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass
How ardently my bosom glows
How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine
How green the fields, the flowers how fair note
How still is the night, and how deathlike the gloom

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I come in the morn, I come in the hour note
I found the warrior on the piain
If that the world and love were young • note
I have known what it was to be happy and gay .
In Buttermere's woods and wilds among . note
In summer when nature her mantle displays
In summer when the hay was mawn

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In vain thou call'st for a mirthful smile

. Reader
Isabelle! Isabelle! hark to my soft lute
I saw from the beach when the morning was shining, Moore
I saw thee weep-the big bright tear

I saw thy form in youthful primei . . Moore
Is there a man whose breast ne'er glow'd

171 its filmy wing, of azure hue .

359 It was Dunois, the young and brave, was

bound for Palestine . note Fanny De Beauharnois 361 l've no sheep on the mountains, nor boat on the lake Joanna Baillie 69 I whispered her my last adieu



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Keen and cold is the blast loudly whistling around
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer
Kenmure's on an' awa, Willie . note
Know'st thou the land where stately laurels bloom

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Let every valiant son of Gaul . note Marquis de Paulmy 248
Let high Benledi rear its tap
Let us go, lassie, go .

Tannahill 391 Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, o, . John Sim

144 Light springs the pang, light passes by


245 Loud roar'd the tempest, the night was descending J. B. . 25 Love under Friendship's vesture white


15 Love will not bloom where envy breathes

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Maiden, wrap thy mantle round thee •
Maid of the cold suspicious heart
Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue
Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow
May heaven holpe the Mayde
Merrily every bosom boundeth

Mine be a cot beside the hill
Money inaks us bonny
My bonny black meer's dead
My cruel love to danger go
My father and mother now lie with the dead
My friend is the man I would copy thro' life
My dying Sire, in battle slain
My Harry was a gallant gay

My heart is sair, I darena tell
My love can boast a sweeter flower
My soul is dark-Oh! quickly string


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