An' Southrons down in thousands reeled, Stark, stiff an' dour, The vera weans did thistles wield, An' fought like stour. Since then no foe hath dared to tread Thy head thou rear'st. By flowing springs of freedom fed, No blast thou fear'st. Thy native land is free as air, Her sons are bold, her daughters fair, Bright soul'd, warm hearted, fond to share The social smile, Pure love, true friendship, glorious pair Adorn the soil. Rear high thy head, thou symbol dear, I bow before thee, An' while life's pulse beats warm, I swear Still to adore thee. JAMES BALLANTINE. THE BUIKIN' O' ROBIN AND MIRREN. TUNE-" Brose and Butter." GAE bring me my rokeley o' grey, My mutch and red ribbons sae dainty, Tho' sair wi' the hoast he was fash'd, And busk yoursel' tidy and canty, The body cam' hirplin' ben, Tho' warstlin' wi' eild, he was canty, He sang and he ranted fu' cheery, Nor am I sae gruesome or uggin, At this Mirren's heart gae a crack, Like the thud o' a waukin' mill beetle, And she thocht, but she ne'er a word spak, "Weel, I'd e'en be contented wi' little." For Mirren, tho' threescore and ane, Had never had "will ye," speer'd at her, And quo' Robin "that settles the matter.' Busk and let's aff, for I'se warran', MY AIN COUNTRIE. TUNE-" The Brier Bush." How are ye a' at hame, Are your kind hearts aye the same, In my ain countrie? Are ye a' as fu' o' glee, As witty, frank, and free, Oh! a coggie I will fill To my ain countrie! Heaven watch thou ever o'er My ain countrie! Let tyrants never more Rule my ain countrie! May her heroes dear to thee The bauld hearts and the free Be ready aye to dee, For their ain countrie! May a blessin' licht on a' In my ain countrie! O' my ain countrie! ALEX. MACLAGGAN. THE HIGHLAND MAID. TUNE-"42d March." AGAIN the lav'rock seeks the sky, But ah! the summer's blythe return Nae mair can cheer the heart forlorn, My true love fell by Charlie's side, That aften on the mountain's brow ; My father's shieling on the hill, He spak' o' me, they said, The weary night for rest I seek, In yonder lowly glade, Where haply ilka passer by Shall mourn the Highland maid. SIR BENJAMIN BUFFSTRAP.1 AIR--" Black Jock." HAVE you ever heard of Sir Benjamin Buffstrap, the Broad, That knight of the razor so outre and odd The barbarous barber of Barrowfield bar? Sure a sharper short shaver has seldom been seen, Though a barbarous barber Sir Benjamin be, The barbarous barber of Barrowfield bar. This barbarous barber's a wonderful wight, The barbarous barber at Barrowfield bar. This clever little, facetious, bustling personage, is a particular friend of the author; is considered a great accession to every social party-and is as ready at repartee as the celebrated Jemmy Wright. He still resides at Barrowfield bar, Bridgeton-is barber, toll-man, spirit-dealer, farmer of ladle-dues, draff and sand contractor, punster, and poet. The term barbarous, has only an alliterative application; the worthy polisher of chins is as smooth and agreeable in his manners as the edge of his own blades. 2 Savage is the name of a neighbour strap. |