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Ti oft as the mild evening weeps over the lea,

The eet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thyystal stream, Afton, how gently it glides,

And inds by the cot where my Mary resides:

How anton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

As, gath'ring sweet flow'rets, she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream;

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR.

O WERE my love yon lilac fair,

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; And I a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing:

How I wad mourn, when it was torn
By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom re-
new'd.

O gin my love were yon red rose
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel' a drap o' dew,

Into her bonny breast to fa'!

Oh! there beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.

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MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O! WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; And owsen frae the furrow'd field

Return sae dowf and wearie, O! Down by the burn, where scented birks Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, O!

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,

My ain kind dearie, O!

Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae wearie, O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo, At noon the fisher seeks the glen, Along the burn to steer, my jo; Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray, It maks my heart sae cheery, O, To meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie, O!

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

1762-1850.

[THE REV. WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES was born at King's Sutton in 1762. His chief work is his Sonnets, first published in 1789. He died at Salisbury in 1850.]

THE CLIFF.

As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror

past,

When o'er the dark wave rode the

howling blast,

Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide

That laves the pebbled shores; and now the beam

Of evening smiles on the gray battlement,

And yon forsaken tow'r that time has rent:

The lifted oar far off with silver gleam Is touched, and the hushed billows seem to sleep.

Soothed by the scene e'en thus on sorrow's breast

A kindred stillness steals, and bids her rest;

Whilst sad airs stilly sigh along the deep,

Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre,

Waked by the breeze, and as they mourn, expire.

BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.

YE holy tow'rs that shade the wave-worn steep,

Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,

Though hurrying silent by, relentless

time

Assail you, and the wintry whirlwind

sweep.

For, far from blazing grandeur's crowded halls,

Here Charity has fixed her chosen seat;

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The world his country, and his God his Bidding me many a tender thought recall

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And think when thou hast dried the bitter tear,

That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,

I may look back on many a sorrow past, And greet life's peaceful evening with a smile

As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,

Sings in the sunshine of the transient shower,

Forgetful, though its wings be wet the while.

But ah! what ills must that poor heart endure,

Who hopes from thee, and thee alone,

a cure.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

1762-1851.

[BORN at Bothwell Manse, Lanarkshire, Sept. 11, 1762; came to live in London, 1784. Published Plays on the Passions, vol. i., 1798; vol. ii., 1802; vol. iii., 1812; Miscellaneous Dramas, 1804; The Family Legend, 1810; Dramas, 3 vols., 1836; Fugitive Verses, 1840. Died at Hampstead, Feb. 23, 1851.]

THE CHOUGH AND CROW.

THE Chough and Crow to roost are gone

The owl sits on the tree

The hush'd winds wail with feeble moan, Like infant charity.

The wild fire dances o'er the fen

The red star sheds its ray; Uprouse ye then, my merry men, It is our op'ning day.

Both child and nurse are fast asleep,
And clos'd is ev'ry flower;
And winking tapers faintly peep,
High from my lady's bower.
Bewilder'd hind with shorten'd ken,
Shrink on their murky way:
Uprouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our op'ning day.

Nor board, nor garner own we now,
Nor roof, nor latched door,
Nor kind mate bound by holy vow
To bless a good man's store.
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,

And night is grown our day:
Uprouse ye then, my merry men,
And use it as we may.

SONG.

[Version taken from an old song, Woo'd and married and a'.

THE bride she is winsome and bonny, Her hair it is snooded sae sleek, And faithfu' and kind is her Johnny,

Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
New pearlins1 are cause of her sorrow,
New pearlins and plenishing too;
The bride that has a' to borrow
Has e'en right mickle ado.

Woo'd and married and a'!
Woo'd and married and a'!
Is na' she very weel aff

To be woo'd and married at a'?

Her mither then hastily spak,
"The lassie is glaikit2 wi' pride;
In my pouch I had never a plack

On the day when I was a bride.
E'en tak to your wheel and be clever,
And draw out your thread in the sun;
The gear that is gifted it never
Will last like the gear that is won.
Woo'd and married and a'!
Wi' havins and tocher 3 sae sma'!
I think ye are very weel aff

To be woo'd and married at a'."

1 finery, lace. 2 silly. 3 goods and dowry.

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