MY SON GEORGE'S DEPARTURE.*

TUNE-" Peggy Brown.”

THE parting kiss, the soft embrace,
I feel them at my heart!

"Twere joy to clasp you in those arms,

But agony to part.

But let us tranquillise our minds,
And hope the time may be,
When I shall see that face again,
So loved, so dear to me!

Five tedious years have roll'd along,
And griefs have had their sway,
Though many comforts fill'd my cup,
Yet thou wert far away.

On pleasant days, when friends are met,
Our sports are scarce begun,
When I shall sigh, because I miss
My George, my eldest son!

I owe my grateful thanks to Heaven,
I've seen thee well and gay,
I've heard the music of thy voice,
I've heard thee sweetly play.
O try and cheer us with your strains
Ere many twelvemonths be,
And let us hear that voice again,

So loved, so dear to me!

* This lay of affection is dated September 1820, when the author received a visit from her eldest son, who was then settled as a merchant in London. Mr George Lyon, the subject of the song, and the only surviving member of the family, is now resident at Snowdoun House, Stirling.

ROBERT LOCHORE.

ROBERT LOCHORE was descended from a branch of a Norman family of that name, long established in the neighbourhood of Biggar, and of which the representative was the House of Lochore de Lochore in Fifeshire. He was born at Strathaven, in the county of Lanark, on the 7th of July 1762, and, in his thirteenth year, was apprenticed to a shoemaker in Glasgow. He early commenced business in the city on his own account. In carrying on public improvements he ever evinced a deep interest, and he frequently held public offices of trust. He was founder of the "Annuity Society,' -an institution attended with numerous benefits to the citizens of Glasgow.

Mr Lochore devoted much of his time to private study. He was particularly fond of poetical composition, and wrote verses with facility, many of his letters to his intimate friends being composed in rhyme. His poetry was of the descriptive order; his lyrical effusions were comparatively rare. Several poetical tales and songs of his youth, contributed to different periodicals, he arranged, about the beginning of the century, in a small volume. The greater number of his compositions remain in MS. in the possession of his family. He died in Glasgow, on the 27th April 1852, in his ninetieth year. Of a buoyant and humorous disposition, he composed verses nearly to the close of his long life; and, latterly, found pleasure in recording, for the amusement of his family, his recollections of the past. He was universally beloved as a faithful friend, and was deeply imbued with a sense of religion.

NOW, JENNY LASS.

TUNE-" Garryowen."

Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird,
My daddy's dead, an' a' that;
He's snugly laid aneath the yird,
And I'm his heir, an' a' that;
I'm now a laird, an' a' that;
I'm now a laird, an' a' that;
His gear an' land's at my command,
And muckle mair than a' that.

He left me wi' his deein' breath,
A dwallin' house, an' a' that;
A burn, a byre, an' wabs o' claith-
A big peat-stack, an' a' that.
A mare, a foal, an' a' that;
A mare, a foal, an' a' that;
Sax guid fat kye, a cauf forby,
An' twa pet ewes, an' a' that.

A yard, a meadow, lang braid leas,
An' stacks o' corn, an' a' that—
Enclosed weel wi' thorns an' trees,
An' carts, an' cars, an' a' that;
A pleugh, an' graith, an' a' that;
A pleugh, an' graith, an' a' that;
Guid harrows twa, cock, hens, an' a'-
A grecie, too, an' a' that.

I've heaps o' claes for ilka days,
For Sundays, too, an' a' that;

I've bills an' bonds on lairds an' lands,
And siller, gowd, an' a' that.

What think ye, lass, o' a' that? What think ye, lass, o' a' that? What want I noo, my dainty doo, But just a wife to a' that.

Now, Jenny dear, my errand here
Is to seek ye to a' that;

My heart 's a' loupin', while I speer
Gin ye 'll tak me, wi' a' that.
Mysel', my gear, an' a' that;
Mysel', my gear, an' a' that;
Come, gie's your loof to be a proof,
Ye'll be a wife to a' that.

Syne Jenny laid her neive in his-
Said, she'd tak him wi' a' that;

An' he gied her a hearty kiss,
An' dauted her, an' a' that.
They set a day, an' a' that;

They set a day, an' a' that;
Whan she'd gang hame to be his dame,
An' haud a rant, an' a' that.

MARRIAGE, AND THE CARE O'T.

TUNE-"Whistle o'er the lave o't."

QUOTH Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear,
I've woo'd ye mair than half a-year,
An' if ye 'd wed me, ne'er cou'd speer
Wi' blateness, an' the care o't.
Now to the point: sincere I'm we 't;
Will ye be my half-marrow sweet?
Shake han's, and say a bargain be 't,
An' ne'er think on the care o't.

Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed,
O' sic a snare I'll aye be rede;
How mony, thochtless, are misled

By marriage, an' the care o't!
A single life's a life o' glee,
A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me,
Frae toil an' sorrow I'll keep free,
An' a' the dool an' care o't.

Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply,
Ye ne'er again shall me deny,
Ye may a toothless maiden die,

For me, I'll tak' nae care o't.
Fareweel, for ever!-aff I hie ;-
Sae took his leave without a sigh:
Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I'm yours, I'll try
The married life, an' care o't.