THOU greybeard, old Wisdom! may… Give me with young Folly to live; I grant thee thy calm-blooded, tim… But Folly has raptures to give.

Nae lark in transport mounts the s… Or leaves wi’ early plaintive cry, But I will bid a last good—bye, My last farewell to Stirling O. Chorus:

TO Riddell, much lamented man, This ivied cot was dear; Wandr’er, dost value matchless wor… This ivied cot revere.

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands… He aften did assist ye; For had ye staid hale weeks awa, Your wives they ne’er had miss’d y… Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pre…

AULD comrade dear, and brither s… How’s a’ the folk about Glenconne… How do you this blae eastlin wind, That’s like to blaw a body blind? For me, my faculties are frozen,

Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e’er I sp… Are spent amang the lasses, O! There’s nought but care on every h…

When Januar’ wind was blawing cau… As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na whare to lodge till day: By my gude luck a maid I met,

BLESS Jesus Christ, O Cardones… With grateful, lifted eyes, Who taught that not the soul alone… But body too shall rise; For had He said “the soul alone

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macn… O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie Macn… She’s down in the yard, she’s kiss… She winna come hame to her ain Jo… O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M…

DEAR Myra, the captive ribband’s… ’Twas all my faithful love could g… And would you ask me to resign The sole reward that crowns my pai… Go, bid the hero who has run

Chorus.-O lovely Polly Stewart, O charming Polly Stewart, There’s ne’er a flower that blooms… That’s half so fair as thou art! The flower it blaws, it fades, it…

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad! Whare hae ye been sae brankie O? Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie O? An ye had been whare I hae been,

ONE night as I did wander, When corn begins to shoot, I sat me down to ponder Upon an auld tree root; Auld Ayr ran by before me,

THERE’S news, lassies, news, Gude news I’ve to tell! There’s a boatfu’ o’ lads Come to our town to sell. Chorus.—The wean wants a cradle,