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O WILL I COME WHEN YONT THE KNOWES.

TUNE“ The Lee Rig.
O WILL I come when yont the knowes

The setting sun has hid his ee,
An' meet thee whare the Irwin rows,

Sae smoothly thro' the gowan'd lea?
O will I come, and welcome be?

And wilt thou on my bosom rest;
And, while I own nae joy but thee,

Tell me I'm dearest to thy breast?
O yes! I'll come and joyfu' meet,

And hear thee say thou’rt a' my ain;
Our meeting moments shall be sweet-

But O how shall we part again ?
Yon star that glimmers o'er the main,

Shall set beyond blue Arran's brow,
And, blythe, the lark renew her strain,
Ere I, reluctant, sigh-adieu!

(SUNG slow.)
But if I come, and thou, unkind,

Should'st shaw nae welcome in thy ee,
Then night!-in a'thy sables bend

In awfu' darkness o'er the lea;
And let nae starnie, glintin' hi',

Abate the horror othy reign,
But sunk in drearie woe, like me,

Let Nature wrapt in gloom remain.
Perhaps some youth, than me more dear,

Has smooth'd his way by tender art;
Has sigh'd his passion in thy ear,

And found admission to thy heart.

penned. Contrary to his fears, in his native plains, and among the friends of his early years, he has thrice seen winter “dis. mantle Nature of her charms,” since he wrote The Farewell.

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Then a' ye dreams of joy depart,

For oh! this throbbing heart is sair !
Nae future hour will joy impart-
Nae future scene will ease my care.

(LIVELY.)
But na-she smiles! Maria smiles

As blythe as morning's risin' rayNae happier youth, wi' artfu' wiles,

Has lur'd her maiden heart away. Then joy resume thy welcome sway,

And ever reign within my breastLet fortune sen' me weel or wae,

I tent na-since wi' Mary blest.

O come alang wi' me, my love,

And dinna sae me nay;
Come see the sportive spunkie, love,

A-happin' down the brae.
I maunna gang wi' thee, my love,

I e'en maun say thee nay:
The spunkie's treach'rous flame, my love,

Leads followers far astray.

O come alang wi' me, my love,

O come alang wi' me,
And see the hoary cranreuch, love,

Bedeck the leafless tree.
I maunna gang wi' thee, my love,

I maunna gang wi’ thee: -
The frost that decks the tree, my love,

Cauld wad it fa' on me.

O come alang wi' me, my love,

Come to the burnie's side;
The cauld blast winna steer thee, love,

I'll hap thee in my plaid.
I maunna gang wi' thee, my love,

To the burnie's rocky side:
I coudna see thee cauld, my love,

An' me row't in thy plaid.

O come alang wi' me, my love,

O come and fear nae harm;
We'll share the plaid atween us twa,

And keep ilk ither warm,
I come-anthus it ay will be-

Let fortune smile or storm,
We'll share the plaid atween us twa,

An' keep ilk ither warm.

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- When the sun's red-rays are streamin',
Warm on the meadow beamin',
Or o'er the loch wild gleamin',

My heart is fu' o' thee.
An' tardy-footed gloamin',
Out o'er the hills slow comin',
Still finds me lanely roamin',

And thinkin' still othee.

When soughs the distant billow,
An' night blasts shake the willow,
Stretch'd on my lanely pillow

My dreams are a' othee.
Then think when frien's caress thee,
O think when cares distress thee,
O think when pleasures bless thee,
O' him that thinks o' thee!

Ff

HELEN.
TUNE_" Jessie the Flower o' Dumblane."
Min life's busy scenes oft I think on thee, Helen!

In sweetest retirement I muse on thy charıns;
Still mem'ry, ay true to the powers of my feelin',
Sighs forth, “mind youth's joy link'd in each other's

arms." How sweet was the pleasure, still sweet tho' departed;

Earth's joys, alas! are like rude winds at sea; Long for my Helen my lone soul hath smarted,

Each throb in my bosom beat fondly for thee. Need I to remind you, how oft times we've wander'd

By Biggar's fair village, the pride of the plain; Or how, by the streamlet that sweetly meander'd,

We've sported in innocence, free from guilt's pain. Eve, with its odours bedewing the mountain,

Transcendently shines in the chaste lover's eye; If 'tis a pleasure to muse by the fountain,

With rapture I'll muse tho' my heart for thee sigh. *.

SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.
FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame,

Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,

Sae fam'd in martial story!.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,

And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands:

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

* In inserting this piece, the production of a youth of sixteen, the Editor thinks he need offer no apology, since he is of opinion it gives indications of poetical powers, which time and riper judgment will, he hopes, much improve

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