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I'll count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae lang as I'll enjoy it ;
As lang's I get employment.
But far aff fowls hae feathers fair,
And aye until ye try them;
My dear, I'll come and see thee,
Nae travel makes him weary.
I'VE NO SHEEP ON THE MOUNTAINS.
I've no sheep on the mountains, nor boat on the lake,
Softly tapping, at eve, to her window I came,
Rich Owen will tell you, with eyes full of scorn,
The farmer rides proudly to market and fair,
For blythe as the urchin at holiday play,
MY HEART'S MY AIN.
Tis no very lang sinsyne, .
That I had a lad o' my ain;
And left me a' my lane.
And I hae nane at a',
That's tane my lad awa'.
But I'm blythe that my heart's my ain,
And I'll keep it a' my life, Until that I meet wi' a lad,
Wha has sense to wale a good wife. For tho' I say't mysel,
That should nae say't, 'tis true, The lad that gets me for a wife
He'll ne'er ha'e occasion to rue.
I gang aye fu' clean and fu' tosh,
As a' the neighbours can rell,
But sic as I spin mysel;
And when I'm clad in my curtsey,
I think mysel' as braw
That's tane my lad awa'.
But I wish they were buckl'd thegither,
And may they live happy for life; Tho' Willie now hts me, and's left me,
The chiel he deserves a gude wife.
As blythe as I weel can be ;
Would never agree wi' me,
But the truth is, I am aye hearty,
I hate to be scrimpit or scant ;
And there's nane about me shall want a For I'm a gude guide o' the warld,
I ken when to haud and to gi'e; But whinging and cringing for siller
Would never agree wi' me.
Contentment is better than riches,
And he wha has that has enough ; The master is seldom sae happy
As Robin that drives the ploughe
To mak me his partner for life,
He'll fa' on his feet for a wife,
DIRGE OF ISHMAEL,
A Bedouin Chief
Our father's brow was cold, his eye
Gaz'd on his warriors heavily ;
Silence was on the noble tongue;
* The manuscript journal of a late traveller in Egypt, furnished this short but expressive dirge, accompanied with the following very interesting remarks.
* The current was against us ; and, as we approached the city Cairo, the wind was lulled almost into a complete calm. Whilst we were busy at the oar, we were suddenly surprized with the noise of some unusual sounds from the river's side, on hearing of which our watermen immediately threw them selves on their faces and began a prayer. A few moments after, a procession was discovered advancing from a grove of date trees, which grew only at short distance from the bank. It was a band of Bedouins, who, in one of the few adventures into the half civilized world of Lower Egypt, for the purpos of trade, had lost their Chief by sickness. The whole of the train were moun ed, and the body was borne along, in the middle of the foremost troop, in kind of palanquin, rude, but ornamented with that strange mixture of savag ness and magnificence which we find not unfrequent among the nobler bart rians of the east and south. The body was covered with a lion's skin, a gre and gold embroidered flag waved over it, and some remarkably rich ostri feathers on the lances, formed the capitals and pillars of this Arab hearsc.
“ Though the procession moved close to the shore, none of the tribe appear to observe our boat, their faces being stedfastly directed to the setting su
hich was then touching the horizon, in full grandeur, with an immer canopy of gorgeous clouds closing around him in a beautiful shade of dec zring purple. The air was remarkably still, and their song, in which t: