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My een are bauld, they dwall on a place Where I daurna mint my han';

But I water and tend and kiss the flowers O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I am but her father's gardener lad,

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My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,

Wi' fatherless bairnies twa,

My lady comes, my lady gaes

Wi' a fu' and kindly han';

Oh, their blessin' maun mix wi' my luve, And fa' on Lady Ann!

THE SPRING OF THE YEAR.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. From "Cromek's Remains."

GONE were but the winter cold,
And gone were but the snaw,
I could sleep in the wild woods,
Where primroses blaw.

Cold's the snaw at my head,
And cold at my feet;

And the finger of death's at my een,

Closing them to sleep.

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There is a time for holy song,

An hour for charm and spell, And now's the time to bathe my babe In our blessed Ladye's well.

Oh, thou wert born as fair a babe

As light e'er shone aboon,
And fairer than the gowan is,
Born in the April moon ;
First like the lily pale ye grew,
Syne like the violet wan;
As in the sunshine dies the dew,
So faded my fair Ann.

Was it a breath of evil wind

That harm'd thee, lovely child? Or was't the fairy's charmed touch That all thy bloom defiled? I've watched thee in the mirk midnight,

And watch'd thee in the day,

And sung our Ladye's sacred song,

To keep the elves away.

The moon is sitting on the hill,
The night is in its prime,

The owl doth chase the bearded bat,
The mark of witching time;
And o'er the seven sister-stars
A silver cloud is drawn,
And pure the blessed water is
To bathe thee, gentle Ann.

On a fair sea thy father sails

Among the spicy isles:

He thinks on thee, he thinks on me,

And as he thinks he smiles;

And sings, while he his white sail trims,

And severs swift the sea,

About his Anna's sunny locks,

And of her bright blue ee.

O blessed fountain, give her back
The brightness of her brow!
O blessed water, bid her cheeks
Like summer roses glow!
'Tis a small gift, thou blessed well,
To a thing divine as thee;
But kingdoms to a mother's heart,
Fu' dear is Ann to me.

THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. From "Cromek's Remains."

THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie,
By that pretty white hand o' thine,
And by a' the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine;

And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart o' thine,

By a' the stars sown thick ower heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine.

Then foul fa' the hands that loose sic bands,
And the heart that wad part sic love;
But there's nae hand can loose my band
But the finger o' God above.

Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,
And my claithing e'er sae mean,

I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve,
Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me,

Fu' safter than the down,

And Luve wad winnow ower us his kind, kind wings,

And sweetly I'll sleep, an' soun'.

Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve,

Come here and kneel wi' me;

The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,
And I canna pray but thee.

The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers,

The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie;

Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke,

And a blythe auld bodie is he.

The Beuk maun be taen whan the carle comes hame

Wi' the holie psalmodie,

And thou maun speak o' me to thy God,
And I will speak o' thee.

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CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRN, born 1766, died 1845. Air-"Loch-Erroch side."-C. R.

'Twas on a summer's afternoon,

A wee afore the sun gaed down,
A lassie wi' a braw new gown

Cam' ower the hills to Gowrie.

The rose-bud, washed in summer's shower,
Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower;

But Kitty was the fairest flower

That e'er was seen in Gowrie.

To see her cousin she cam' there,
And oh, the scene was passing fair!
For what in Scotland can compare
Wi' the Carse o' Gowrie ?

The sun was setting on the Tay,
The blue hills melting into gray,
The mavis' and the blackbird's lay
Were sweetly heard in Gowrie.

Oh lang the lassie I had woo'd!
An' truth and constancy had vow'd;
But cam' no speed wi' her I lo'ed;
Until she saw fair Gowrie.
I pointed to my faither's ha',
Yon bonnie bield ayont the shaw,

Sae lown that there nae blast could blaw,
Wad she no bide in Gowrie.

Her faither was baith glad and wae;
Her mither she wad naething say;
The bairnies thocht they wad get play
If Kitty gaed to Gowrie.

She whiles did smile, she whiles did greet,
The blush and tear were on her cheek:

She naething said, and hung her head;
But now she's Leddy Gowrie.

There are several versions of this popular song. One of these, composed by William Reid, of Glasgow (1764-1831), begins,—

"When Katie was scarce out nineteen."

Another version is in the first two stanzas nearly the same with those of Lady Nairn's composition. It thus proceeds :

:

"I praised her beauty loud an' lang,

Then round her waist my arms I flang,

And said, 'My dearie, will ye gang

To see the Carse o' Gowrie ?'" &c.

Mr. Lyle, in his "Ancient Ballads and Songs " (London, 1827, 12mo., p. 138), presents an additional version, beginning,

"A wee bit north frae yon green wood."

C. R.

KELVIN GROVE.

THOMAS LYLE. Born 1792, died 1859.-C. R.

LET us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie O;
Through its mazes let us rove, bonnie lassie O,
Where the rose in all her pride

Paints the hollow dingle's side,

Where the midnight fairies glide, bonnie lassie O.

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