CCL.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.

OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the

sky;

And thousands had sunk on the ground over

power'd,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track: 'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was

young;

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the cornreapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I

swore

From my home and my weeping friends never

to part;

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of

heart.

"Stay-stay with us!-rest !-thou art weary and

worn!"

And fain was their war-broken soldier to

stay ;

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. Campbell.

CCLI.

CA' THE YOWES.

CA' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them whare the heather grows,

Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water side,
There I met my shepherd lad,
He rowed me sweetly in his plaid,
And he ca'ed me his dearie.

Will ye gang down the water side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide
Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
The moon it shines fu' clearly.

I was bred up at nae sic school,
My shepherd lad, to play the fool;
And a' the day to sit in dool,

And naebody to see me.

Ye shall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet,
And in my arms ye's lie and sleep,
And ye sall be my dearie.

If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad;
And ye may row me in your plaid,
And I sall be your dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea,
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death sall blin' my e'e,
Ye aye sall be my dearie.-Isabel Pagan.

CCLII.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye

at hame,

And a' the weary warld to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in show'rs frae my e'e,

While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving a crown, he had naething else beside: To mak' the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to

sea

And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He had na been awa' a week but only twa,
When my father brak his arm, and the cow

stown awa';

My mother she fell sick, and my Jam

sea !

And auld Robin Gray came a courtin'

the

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna

spin;

I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna

win;

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e

Said, “Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!”

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;

His ship it was a wrack-why didną Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me?

My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break :

They gi'ed him my hand, tho' my heart was in the

sea;

Sae auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,

When sitting sae mournfully ae night at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,

Till he said, "I'm come hame for to marry thee."

O sair did we greet, and muckle did we say,
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away :
I wish I were dead! but I'm no like to dee;
And why do I live to say, Wae's me?

gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; Burna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; do my best a gude wife to be, Robin Gray is kind unto me.

For a

Lady A. Lindsay.

CCLIII.

THE LAND O' THE LEAL.

I'm wearin' awa', John,

Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,

I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal!

There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,
The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John,
And oh! we grudg'd her sair

To the land o' the leal.

But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
And joy that's aye to last

In the land o' the leal.

Sae dear that joy was bought, John,
Sae free the battle fought, John,
That sinfu' man e'er brought

To the land o' the leal.

Oh! dry your glistening e'e, John,
My soul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me

To the land o' the leal.

Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,
Your day it's wearin' thro', John,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Now fare ye weel, my ain John,
This world's cares are vain, John ;

We'll meet, and aye be fain,

In the land o' the leal.-Lady Nairn