And when I'm with my comrades met, Beneath the greenwood bough, Nor think what we are now. LUCY'S FLITTIN'. WALTER LAIDLAW. "Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in, And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in, And left her auld master, and neibours sae dear. For Lucy had serv'd i' the glen a' the simmer; She cam there afore the flow'r bloom'd on the pea; An orphan was she, an' they had been gude till her, Sure that was the thing brought the tear in her ee. She gaed by the stable, whare Jamie was stannin', Right sair was his kind heart the flittin' to see; Fare ye weel, Luey! quo' Jamie, and ran in. The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae her ee. As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' her flittin', Fare ye weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang; She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin', And robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang. O what is't that pits my poor heart in a flutter? Then what gars me wish onie better to be? Wi' the rest o' my claes I hae row'd up the ribbon, The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me : Yestreen when he ga’e meʼt, and saw I was sabbin', I'll never forget the wae blink o' his ee. Tho' now he said naething, but Fare ye weel, Lucy! It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see: He could na say mair, but just Fare ye weel, Lucy! Yet that I will mind to the day that I die. The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when it's droukit; The hare likes the brake, and the braird on the lee; But Lucy likes Jamie ;—she turn'd and she lookit ; She thought the dear place she wad never mair see. Ah! weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless, And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn! His bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return. DONALD CAIRD. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Donald Caird can lilt and sing, Donald Caird can wire a maukin, To shoot a moor-fowl in the drift: He can wauk when they are sleepers ;- Donald Caird can drink a gill Kens how Donald bends a bicker: When he's fou, he's stout and saucy, Keeps the cantle o' the causey; Highland chief and Lowland laird Maun gie room to Donald Caird. Steek the aumrie, lock the kist, On Donald Caird the doom was stern, But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study, YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ. Ye mariners of England! Who guard our native seas; Whose flag has brav'd, a thousand years, To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long, Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Your manly hearts shall glow; While the stormy tempests blow: While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. |