Here is the glen, and here the bower All underneath the birchen shade; The village-bell has told the hour, O what can stay my lovely maid? 'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 'Tis butthe balmy breathing gale, Mixt with some warbler's dying fall, The dewy star of eve to hail. It is Maria's voice I hear;
Hee balou, my sweet weeDonald, Picture o' the great Clanronald; Brawliekens our wanton Chief Whagatmy young Highland thief. Leeze me onthy boniecraigie, An'thou live, thou'll steal a naigie, Travel the country thro' and thro', And bring hame a Carlisle cow. Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the Border, Weel, my babie, may thou furder! Herrythe louns o'the
That there is a falsehood in his looks, I must and will deny: They tell their Master is a knave, And sure they do not lie.
The lovely lass o'Inverness, Naejoy nor pleasure can she see; For, e'ento morn she cries, alas! And aye the sauttear blin's her e'e. "Drumossie moor, Drumossie day- A waefu' day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. "Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are
Here lies John Bushby-honest man, Cheat him, Devil-if you can!
Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature? Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy. Now, to the streaming fountain, Orup the heathy mountain, The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray; In twining hazel bowers, Its lay the linnet pours, The laverockto the sky Ascends,
Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief For Moses and his rod; At Yarico's sweet nor of grief The rockwith tears had flow'd.
As I stood by yonroofless tower, Where the wa'flow'r scents the dery air, Where the howletmourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. Chorus-A lassie all alone, was making her moan, Lamenting our lads beyond the sea: In the bluidywars they fa', and our honour's ganean'a', And broken-hearted we maundie. The