Hurrah for the bonnets of blue !

Hurrah for the bonnets of blue!

It's guid to be wise, to be honest and true,
And bide by the bonnets of blue.*

MCLEAN'S INVITATION TO PRINCE
CHARLES.

HOGG.

COME o'er the stream, Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie,

1;

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, and dine wi' M‹Lean : And, though you be weary, we'll make your heart cheery, And welcome our Charlie and his loyal train.

We'll bring down the track-deer, we'll bring down the black steer,

The lamb from the bucht and the doe from the glen; The salt sea we'll harry, and bring to our Charlie,

The cream from the bothy, and curd from the pen.

And you shall drink freely the dews of Glen-sheerly,
That stream in the star-light when kings dinna ken;
And deep shall your meed be of wine that is ruddy,
To drink to your sire, and his friend the M'Lean.

If aught will invite you, or more will delight you,
'Tis ready-a troop of our bold Highlandmen
Shall range o'er the heather, with bonnet and feather,
Strong arms and broad claymores, three hundred and

ten.

*Altered by a modern hand, from a well-known song by Burns.

OH! DINNA ASK ME GIN I LO'E YE.

TUNE-Gin a Body meet a Body.

OH! dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee;

Troth, I darna tell:

Dinna ask me gin I lo❜e ye;
Ask it o' yoursell.

Oh! dinna look sae sair at me,

For weel ye ken me true;
O, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw braw town,
And bonnier lasses see,

O, dinna, Jamie, look at them,
Lest you should mind na me.

For I could never bide the lass,
That ye'd lo'e mair than me;
And O, I'm sure, my heart would break,
Gin ye'd prove false to me.

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

BURNS.

YE gallants braw, I rede ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;

Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;

Sae jimply laced, her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

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

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

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man ;
Ye gallants braw, I rede ye a',
Beware o' bonnie Ann.*

"WHY weep ye by the tide, ladye-
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride;
And ye shall be his bride, ladye,
Sae comely to be seen :"

But aye she loot the tears down fa',
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

"Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale:
Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen :"

But ay she loot the tears down fa',
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

*Written in compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, daughter of the author's friend, Allan Masterton, the "Allan" of " Willy brewed a peck o' Maut.' Miss Masterton afterwards became the wife of John Derbyshire, Esq. surgeon in London.

"A chain o' gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen :"
But ay she loot the tears down fa',

For Jock o' Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight were there:
They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladye was not seen !—

She's o'er the border, and awa
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean !*

THE LORD'S MARIE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

THE Lord's Marie has keppit her locks
Up wi' a gowden kame;

And she has put on her net-silk hose,
And awa to the tryste has gane.
O saft saft fell the dew on her locks,
And saft saft on her brow,
Ae sweet drap fell on her strawberry lip,
And I kissed it aff, I trow.

"O whare gat ye that leal maiden, Sae jimpy-laced and sma?

The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The rest was written for Albyn's Anthology, a collection of Highland airs by Alexander Campbell.

O whare gat ye

that young damsel,

Wha dings our lassies a'?

O whare gat ye that bonnie bonnie lass,
Wi' heaven in her ee?

O here's ae drap o' the damask wine,
Sweet maiden, will ye prie ?"

Fou white white was her bonnie neck,
Twist wi' the satin twine;
But ruddie ruddie grew her hause,
When she sipped the blude-red wine.
"Come, here's thy health, young stranger doo,
Wha wears the gowden kame:
This nicht will mony drink thy health,
And ken na wha to name !"

"Play me up Sweit Marie,'" I cried;

And loud the piper blew :

But the fiddler played ay struntum strum,
And down his bow he threw :

“Here's thy kind health i̇' the ruddie-red wine,
Fair dame o' the stranger land,
For never a pair o' blue een before,
Could mar my gude bow-hand."

Her lips were a cloven hinnie-cherrie,
Sae temptin' to the sicht;

Her locks, ower alabaster brows,
Fell like the mornin' licht.

And, O! her hinnie breath lift her locks,

As through the dance she flew;

While love lauched in her bonnie blue een,

And dwalt on her comely mou.

"Lowse hings your broidered gowd garter,
Fair lady, daur I speak?"

She, trembling, lift her silky hand
To her red red flushin' cheek.