Far, far will the bogle and brownie be,

Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it;
Kind love is the tie of our unity,

A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it.

'Tis love maks the sang o' the woodland sae cheery, Love gars a' Nature look bonny that's near ye; That makes the rose sae sweet,

Cowslip an' violet

O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye!

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.*

AIR-" Shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't."

COME all ye jolly shepherds,
That whistle through the glen,

I'll tell

ye of a secret

That courtiers dinna ken:

What is the greatest bliss

That the tongue o' man can name?

'Tis to woo a bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame,

When the kye comes hame,
'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,

When the kye comes hame.

* In the title and chorus of this favourite pastoral song, I choose rather to violate a rule in grammar, than a Scottish phrase so common, that when it is altered into the proper way, every shepherd and shepherd's sweetheart account it nonsense. I was once singing it at a wedding with great glee the latter way, "When the kye come hame," when a tailor, scratching his head, said, "It was a terrible affectit way that!" I stood corrected, and have never sung it so again.-Hogg.

"Tis not beneath the coronet,

Nor canopy of state, "Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbour of the great'Tis beneath the spreadin' birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, &c.

There the blackbird bigs his nest
For the mate he lo'es to see,
And on the topmost bough,
O, a happy bird is he;

Where he pours his melting ditty,

And love is a' the theme, And he'll woo his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, &c.

When the blewart bears a pearl,
And the daisy turns a pea,
And the bonny lucken gowan
Has fauldit up her e'e,

Then the laverock frae the blue lift
Doops down, an' thinks nae shame

To woo his bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, &c.

See yonder pawkie shepherd,

That lingers on the hill,

His ewes are in the fauld,

An' his lambs are lying still;

Yet he downa gang to bed,
For his heart is in a flame,
To meet his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame.

When the kye comes hame, &c.

When the little wee bit heart
Rises high in the breast,
An' the little wee bit starn
Rises red in the east,
O there's a joy sae dear

That the heart can hardly frame,

Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,

When the kye comes hame!

When the kye comes hame, &c.

Then since all Nature joins
In this love without alloy,
O, wha would prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy?
Or wha would choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss his bonny lassie
When the kye comes hame?

When the kye comes hame,
When the kye comes home,
"Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk,
When the kye comes hame!

THE WOMEN FOLK.*

O SARELY may I rue the day

I fancied first the womenkind;
For aye sinsyne I ne'er can hae

Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind!

They hae plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e,
An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,

But aye, for a' their witchery,

The pawky things I lo'e them still.

O, the women folk! O, the women folk!
But they hae been the wreck o' me;
O, weary fa' the women folk,

For they winna let a body be!

I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,

I've lo'ed them better than mysel,

I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,

To comprehend what nae man can;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.
O, the woman folk, &c.

That they hae gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;
An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,

An' waving curls aboon the bree;

*The air of this song is my own. It was first set to music by Heather, and most beautifully set too. It was afterwards set by Dewar, whether with the same accompaniments or not, I have forgot. It is my own favourite humorous song when forced by ladies to sing against my will, which too frequently happens; and notwithstanding my wood-notes wild, it will never be sung by any so well again.-For the air, see the "Border Garland."-Hogg.

An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,
An' e'en sae pauky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the clud-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!
O, the woman folk, &c.

Even but this night, nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,
I tak ye witness ilka ane,

How fell they fought, and fairly dang.
Their point they 've carried right or wrang,
Without a reason, rhyme, or law,

An' forced a man to sing a sang,

That ne'er could sing a verse ava.

O, the woman folk! O, the woman folk!
But they hae been the wreck o' me;
O, weary fa' the women folk,

For they winna let a body be!

M'LEAN'S WELCOME. *

COME o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
And dine with M'Lean;

* I versified this song at Meggernie Castle, in Glen-Lyon, from a scrap of prose said to be the translation, verbatim, of a Gaelic song, and to a Gaelic air, sung by one of the sweetest singers and most accomplished and angelic beings of the human race. But, alas! earthly happiness is not always the lot of those who, in our erring estimation, most deserve it. She is now no more, and many a strain have I poured to her memory. The air is arranged by Smith. See the "Scottish Minstrel."-Hogg.