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Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose doun the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,

And milk-white is the mlae.

Now laverocks wake the merry morn

Aloft on dewy wing,
The merle in his noontide bower

Makes woodland echoes ring.
The mavis mild, wi' mony a note,

Sings drowsy day to rest;
In love and freedom they rejoice,

Wi' care nor thrall oppress'd.
The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove these sweets amang; But I, the queen o' a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison strang. I was the

queen

o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been ;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,

As blythe lay down at e'en.
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland,
And

mony a traitor there; Yet here I lie in foreign bands

And never-ending care.
But as for thee, thou false woman,

My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword

That through thy soul shall gae.
The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee,
Nor the balm that draps on wounds of woe

From woman's pitying ee.
My son, my son, may kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine ;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign

That ne'er would blink on mine!

U

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,

Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,

Remember him for me.

Oh, soon to me may summer sun
Nae mair licht

up

the morn; Nae mair to me the autumn winds

Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death

Let winter round me rave, And the next flowers that deck the spring

Bloom on my peaceful grave.

LORD GREGORY.

BURNS.

01, mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,

And loud the tempest's roar!
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,-

Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',

And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it mayna be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love

I lang, lang had denied ?

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Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And finty is thy breast :
Thou.dart of heaven that flashest by,

Oh, wilt thou give me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,

Your willing victim see ;
But spare and pardon my fause love

His wrangs to heaven and me!

BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.

BURNS. Air—"The bottom of the punch-bowl."

OA, leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
Oh, leeze me on my rock and reel!
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en.
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content and milk and meal
Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest
And little fishes' caller rest;
The sun blinks kindly in the biel
Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays;
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

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Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

Oh, saftly close thy blinkin' ee! Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me. Thy face is simple, sweet, an' milu,

Like ony simmer e'ening fa’; Thy sparkling ee is bonnie black,

Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.

Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

Oh, saftly close thy blinkin' ee! Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me. Oh, but thy daddie's absence lang

Might break my dowie heart in twa, Wert thou na left a dawtit pledge,

To steal the eerie hours awa'.

THE AULD MAN.

BURNS.

BUT lately seen in gladsome green,

The woods rejoiced the day, Through gentle showers the laughing flowers

In double pride were gay ;
But now our joys are fled

On winter-blasts awa';
Yet maiden May, in rich array,

Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow nae kindly thowe

Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,

Sinks in time's wintry rage.
Oh, age has weary days,

And nights of sleepless pain! Thou golden time o' youthful prime,

Why com’st thou not again ?

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