MY AIN FIRESIDE.

ELIZABETH HAMILTON, authoress of the "Cottagers of Glenburnie."

I HAE seen great anes, and sat in great ha's
Mang lords and fine ladies a' cover'd wi' braws;
At feasts made for princes wi' princes I've been,
Whare the grand shine o' splendour has dazzled my een;
But a sight sae delightfu' I trow I ne'er spied
As the bonnie blythe blink o' my ain fireside!
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

Oh, cheery's the blink o' my ain fireside!

My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

Oh, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside!

Ance mair, Gude be thanket, round my ain heartsome ingle Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle;

Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad,

I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad.

Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear,

But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer:
Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried,

There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside.

My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

Oh, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside!

When I draw in my stool on my cosey hearthstane,
My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my ain;
Care's down on the wind-it is clean out of sight,
Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the night.
I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see,

And mark saft affection glent fond frae ilk ee;
Nae fleetchings o' flattery, nae boastings of pride,
'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

Oh, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside!

OUR AIN FIRESIDE.

From Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of ancient Scottish songs.

My country, o'er thy mountains wild
Though stormy clouds may ride,
There's mony a noble generous heart
Sits round thy fireside.

Her ain fireside, my friends,

Her ain fireside;

May ne'er a tyrant's ruthless arm
Rule o'er her fireside.

Ilow cheery round the ingle-check
To hear cauld winter chide;
While nappy ale an' hearty tale
Gae round the fireside!

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;

I'm glad to see ye a' set round
A social fireside.

The poison'd shafts that malice throws
O'er harmless pastime slide,

While honest worth an' cheerfu' mirth
Sit round the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;

The warmest glow o' friendship's flamc
Shall heat the fireside.

On human worth by length of purse
Let worldly slaves decide;

The heart to share the world's care

Aye heats the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;

The sterling value o' the heart

Aye gilds the fireside.

Through rocks and sands to distant lands

The sailor wanders wide,

In hopes to shield his crazy eild

By couthy fireside.

'Tis Heaven that nerves the soldier's arm

The battle's heat to bide;

He boldly dares the fiercest foe

To shield his fireside.

His ain fireside, my friends,

His country's fireside;

Would ye but warm a coward's heart,

Insult his fireside.

Gi'e luxury her painted domes,

Her palaces gi'e pride;

But be my lot a snug warm cot

And canty fireside.

A canty fireside, my friends,
A canty fireside;

Be

aye my lot a snug warm cot
And canty fireside.

When bairnies brattlin round our knees
On chairs and stoolies ride,

What joy heaves up a parent's heart

To see his fireside!

To see his fireside, my friends,
His ain fireside;

May Heaven protect the rising sprouts
Around his fireside.

Misfortune dour, wi' cauldrife stour,

A neighbour may betide; "Twill edge a bit and lit him sit

Just next the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;

May ne'er a cauld nor hungry heart
Gae by your fireside.

And, oh, may He whose powerful arm
The steps o' mortals guides,

Wi' health and wealth and length o' days
Bless a' our firesides!

Our ain firesides, my friends,

Our ain firesides;

It is sae sweetly scented,

It seems a maiden's breath;
Aboon the sun has wither'd it,
But there is green beneath;-
But there is caller green beneath,
Come, lasses, foot away!

The heart is dowie can be cauld
At making o' the hay!

Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by,
Mak' rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,—
We maun hae done at e'en ;-
We maun hae done at gloaming e'cn;
And when the clouds grow grey,

Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass
Amang the new-made hay!