Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings:

And oh! her een they spak sic things!
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan was a lad o' grace,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't:

Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling Pity smoor'd his wrath;
Now they're crouse and canty baith,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA

HERE'S a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

And wha winna wish gude luck to our cause,
May never gude luck be their fa'!

It's gude to be merry and wise,

It's gude to be honest and true;

It's gude to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to Charlie' the chief o' the clan,
Altho' that his band be but sma'!

May Liberty meet wi' success!

May Prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine i' the mist,
And wander their way to the devil!

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;
Here's a health to Tammie, the Norlan' laddie,
That lives at the lug o' the law!

Here's freedom to them that wad read,

Here's freedom to them that wad write,

1 Charles James Fox. 2 Hon. Thos. Erskine, afterwards Lord Erskine.

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be

heard,

But they whom the truth would indite.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

An' here's to them that's awa!

Here's to Maitland and Wycombe, let wha doesna
like 'em

Be built in a hole in the wa';

Here's timmer that's red at the heart

Here's fruit that is sound at the core;

And may he be that wad turn the buff and blue coat
Be turn'd to the back o' the door.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

Here's chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd,
Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw;
Here's friends on baith sides o' the firth,
And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed;
And wha wad betray old Albion's right,
May they never eat of her bread!

A TIPPLING BALLAD

On the Duke of Brunswick's Breaking up his Camp, and the defeat of the Austrians, by Dumourier, November 1792.

WHEN Princes and Prelates,

And hot-headed zealots,

A' Europe had set in a low, a low,

The poor man lies down,

Nor envies a crown,

And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow,

And comforts himself as he dow.

The black-headed eagle,

As keen as a beagle,

He hunted o'er height and o'er howe,

In the braes o' Gemappe,

He fell in a trap,

E'en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow,
E'en let him come out as he dow.

But truce with commotions,
And new-fangled notions,
A bumper, I trust you'll allow;
Here's George our good king,
And Charlotte his queen,

And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow,
And lang may they ring as they dow.

POORTITH CAULD AND RESTLESS LOVE

Tune "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen."

O POORTITH Cauld, and restless love,
Ye wrack my peace between ye;
Yet poortith a' I could forgive,
An 'twere na for my Jeanie.

Chorus- why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands untwining?

Or why sae sweet a flower as love
Depend on Fortune's shining?

The warld's wealth, when I think on,

It's pride and a' the lave o't;

O fie on silly coward man,

That he should be the slave o't!

O why, &c.

Her e'en, sae bonie blue, betray
How she repays my passion;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks o' rank and fashion.
O why, &c.

O wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?

O wha can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?

O why, &c.

How blest the simple cotter's fate!
He woos his artless dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make him eerie.
O why, &c.

ON POLITICS

IN Politics if thou would'st mix,
And mean thy fortunes be;
Bear this in mind,-be deaf and blind,
Let great folk hear and see.

BRAW LADS O' GALLA WATER

BRAW, braw lads on Yarrow-braes,

They rove amang the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws
Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I loe him better;
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonie lad o' Galla Water.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher,

Yet rich in kindest, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure.

SONNET WRITTEN ON THE AUTHOR'S BIRTHDAY,

On hearing a Thrush sing in his Morning Walk.

SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,

At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear,

Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart; Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day!
Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys-
What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,

The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.

WANDERING WILLIE

First Version

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,

And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting;
It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e:
Now welcome the Simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.

Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers,
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie,

O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!