Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonie Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man :
Ye gallants braw, I red you a',
Beware o' bonie Ann.

MY BONIE MARY.

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,

A service to my bonie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;

Fu loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;

The ship rides by the Berwick-law,

And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are rankèd ready ;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,

The battle closes thick and bloody;
But it's no the roar o' sea or shore
Wad mak me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar,

It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here :
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

TUNE 'NEIL GOW'S LAMENT.'

THERE'S a youth in this city, it were a great pity,
That he from our lasses should wander awa;
For he's bonie and braw, weel favour'd witha',
And his hair has a natural buckle and a'.
His coat is the hue of his bonnet sae blue;

His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw;
His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae,
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a'.

His coat is the hue, &c.

For beauty and fortune the laddie's been courtin; Weel-featur'd, weel-tocher'd, weel-mounted and braw;

But chiefly the siller, that gars him gang till her, The pennie's the jewel that beautifies a'.

There's Meg wi' the mailin, that fain wad a haen

him,

And Susy whase daddy was Laird o' the ha'; There's lang-tocher'd Nancy maist fetters his fancy, -But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dearest of a'.

THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T.
TUNE-EAST NOOK O' FIFE.'

O WHA my babie-clouts will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will own he did the faut?
Wha will buy my groanin maut?
Wha will tell me how to ca't?

The rantin dog the daddie o’t.

When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

I DO confess thou art sae fair,

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve;

Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak, thy heart could muve.

I do confess thee sweet, but find
Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,
Thy favours are the silly wind

That kisses ilka thing it meets.

See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,

Amang its native briers sae coy,
How soon it tines its scent and hue
When pu'd and worn a common toy !

Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,

Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while;
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside,
Like onie common weed and vile.

YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS.

YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys thro' the heather

to feed,

And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed:

Where the grouse, &c.

Not Gowrie's rich valley, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; For there, by a lanely, sequester'd clear stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath; For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove,

While o'er us unheeded, fly the swift hours o' love.

She is not the fairest, altho' she is fair;
O' nice education but sma' is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be ;
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs? And when wit and refinement hae polish'd her darts, They dazzle our een, as they fly to our hearts.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling ee,

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me ;

And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her

arms,

O, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms!

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR?

WHA is that at my bower door?

O wha is it but Findlay;

Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay.

What mak ye sae like a thief?

O come and see, quo' Findlay;
Before the morn ye'll work mischief;
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Gif I rise and let you in ;

Let me in, quo' Findlay;

Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.