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How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.


On Crowning His Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with a
Wreath of Bays.

WHILE Virgin Spring by Eden's flood,
Unfolds her tender mantle green,

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood,
Or tunes Eolian strains between.

While Summer, with a matron grace,
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade,

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace
The progress of the spiky blade.

While Autumn, benefactor kind,
By Tweed erects his agèd head,
And sees, with self-approving mind,
Each creature on his bounty fed.

While maniac Winter rages o'er
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows,
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar,

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows.

So long, sweet Poet of the year!

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear,

Proclaims that THOMSON was her son.


THE noble Maxwells and their powers
Are coming o'er the border,
And they'll gae big Terreagles' towers
And set them a' in order.

And they declare Terreagles fair,
For their abode they choose it;
There's no a heart in a' the land
But's lighter at the news o't.

Tho' stars in skies may disappear,
And angry tempests gather;
The happy hour may soon be near
That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief

May hae a joyfu' morrow;

So dawning day has brought relief,
Fareweel our night o' sorrow.


Tune.-"Carron Side."

FRAE the friends and land I love,

Driv'n by Fortune's felly spite;

Frae my best belov'd I rove,

Never mair to taste delight:
Never mair maun hope to find

Ease frae toil, relief frae care;
When Remembrance wracks the mind,
Pleasures but unveil despair.

Brightest climes shall mirk appear,

Desert ilka blooming shore,
Till the Fates, nae mair severe,

Friendship, love, and peace restore,

Till Revenge, wi' laurel'd head,
Bring our banished hame again;
And ilk loyal, bonie lad

Cross the seas, and win his ain.


FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
An' Tweed rins to the ocean,

To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,

Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;

But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day

That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;

We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!


YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear,
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear,

Ye Jacobites by name,

Your fautes I will proclaim,

Your doctrines I maun blame, you shall hear.

What is Right, and What is Wrang, by the law, by

the law?

What is Right and what is Wrang by the law?

What is Right, and what is Wrang?

A short sword, and a lang,

A weak arm and a strang, for to draw.

What makes heroic strife, famed afar, famed afar? What makes heroic strife famed afar?

What makes heroic strife?

To whet th' assassin's knife,

Or hunt a Parent's life, wi' bluidy war?

Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state,

Then let

your schemes alone in the state.

Then let your schemes alone,

Adore the rising sun,

And leave a man undone, to his fate.


I HAE been at Crookieden,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
Viewing Willie and his men,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie.
There our foes that burnt and slew,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
There, at last, they gat their due,
My bonie laddie, Highland laddie.

Satan sits in his black neuk,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
Breaking sticks to roast the Duke,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie,
The bloody monster gae a yell,

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie.
And loud the laugh gied round a' hell

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie.


O KENMURE's on and awa, Willie,

O Kenmure's on and awa:

An' Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!
Success to Kenmure's band!
There's no a heart that fears a Whig,
That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!
Here's Kenmure's health in wine!
There's ne'er a coward o' Kenmure's blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,
O Kenmure's lads are men;

Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their foes shall ken.

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie;
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But sune, wi' sounding victorie,

May Kenmure's lord come hame!

Here's him that's far awa, Willie!
Here's him that's far awa!

And here's the flower that I loe best,
The rose that's like the snaw.



On His Birthday.

HEALTH to the Maxwells' veteran Chief!
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief:

Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf,

This natal morn,

I see thy life is stuff o' prief,

Scarce quite half-worn.

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