Wha e'er climbs the mountain maun aye risk a fa',
While he that is lowly is safe frae it a'.

The flower blooms unscath'd in the valley sae deep, While the storm rends the aik on its high rocky steep!

My highest ambition-if such be a crime

Is quietly to glide down the swift stream o' time;
And when the brief voyage in safety is o'er,

To meet with loved friends on the far distant shore !

O! THIS WERE A BRIGHT WORLD.

O! THIS were a bright world,--

Most pleasant and gay,

Did love never languish,

Nor friendship decay;
And pure rays of feeling,
That gladden the heart-
Like sunshine to nature-
Did never depart!

To fair eyes no weeping,

To fond hearts no pain ;-
Did hope's buds all blossom-

All blooming remain !

No sorrow to blighten,

No care to destroy ;

O then what a bright world
Of gladness and joy!

Did time never alter,

Nor distance remove,

The friends that we cherish

The fond ones we love

A sky never clouded,

Nor darkened by woe

O then how serenely

Life's streamlet would flow!

Were pleasure less fleeting,

Nor brought in its train

The mem'ry of joys fled,
That come not again—

O then what a bright world-
All gladsome and gay—
Did love never languish,

Nor friendship decay.

THE AUTUMN WINDS ARE BLAWING.

THE autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing,
An' nature is mourning the simmer's decay;
The wee birdies singing, the wee flowerets springing,
Hae tint a' their sangs, an' withered away!
I, too, am mourning, for death has nae returning,
Where are my bairnies, the young an' the gay?
Why should they perish !-the blossoms we cherish-
The beautiful are sleeping cauld in the clay!

Fair was their morning, their beauty adorning,
The mavis sang sweet at the closing o' day;
Now the winds are raving, the green grass is waving,
O'er the buds o' innocence cauld in the clay!
Ilka night brings sorrow, grief comes ilk morrow—

Should gowden locks fade before the auld an' grey? But still, still they're sleeping, wi' nae care nor weeping, The robin sits chirping ower their cauld clay!

In loveliness smiling, ilka day beguiling,

In joy and in gladness, time murmured by;

What now were pleasure, wi' a' the warld's treasure?

My heart's in the grave where my fair blossoms lie! The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing, Moaning is the gale as it rides on its way;

A wild music's sighing, it seems a voice crying

Happy is that land that knows no decay!"

OUR AI U BURU-SIDE.

OH! weel I mind the days, by our ain burn side, When we clam the sunny braes, by our ain burn side, When flowers were blooming fair,

And we wandered free o' care,

For happy hearts were there, by our ain burn side!

Oh! blithe was ilka sang, by our ain burn side,
Nor langest day seemed lang, by our ain burn side
When we decked our woodland queen

In the rashy chaplet green,

And gay she looked, I ween, by our ain burn side.

But the bloom hath left the flower, by our ain burn side, And gath'ring tempest low'r, by our ain burn side.

The woods-no longer green

Brave the wintry blasts sae keen,

And their withered leaves are seen by our ain burn side.

And the little band is gane frae our ain burn side,

To meet, ah! ne'er again, by our ain burn side,
And the winter of the year

Suits the heart both lone and sere,

For the happy ne'er appear by our ain burn side!