The hand o' God hung heavy here,
And lightly touch'd foul tyrannie:
It struck the righteous to the ground,
And lifted the destroyer hie.
But there's a day, quo' my God, in prayer,
When righteousness shall bear the gree:
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust,

And wauken in bliss the gude man's e'e.

"Who can

[From Cromek's Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 1810. doubt that this beautiful song is by Allan Cunningham, or suppose such a song really remained in Nithsdale unknown to Burns?" Jac. Rel. II. 356.-HOGG.]

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

- A wet sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast my boys,
While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,

And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud my boys,
The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

MY NANIE-O.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Red rowes the Nith 'tween bank and brae,
Mirk is the night and rainie-o,
Though heaven and earth should mix in storm,
I'll gang and see my Nanie-o;

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

My kind and winsome Nanie-o,

She holds my heart in loves' dear bands,
And nane can do't but Nanie-o.

In preaching time sae meek she stands,
Sae saintly and sae bonnie-o,

I cannot get ae glimpse of grace,
For thieving looks at Nanie-o;

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o ;

The world's in love with Nanie-o;
That heart is hardly worth the wear
That wadna love my Nanie-o.

My breast can scarce contain my heart,
When dancing she moves finely-o;

I

guess

what heaven is by her eyes,

They sparkle sae divinely-o;

My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

The flower o' Nithsdale's Nanie-o;

Love looks frae 'neath her lang brown hair,
And says, I dwell with Nanie-o.

Tell not, thou star at gray day light,
O'er Tinwald-top so bonnie-o,
My footsteps 'mang the morning dew
When coming frae my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;

Nane ken o' me and Nanie-o;

The stars and moon may tell❜t aboon,
They winna wrang my Nanie-o!

KNOW YE THE FAIR ONE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Know ye the fair one whom I love?
High is her white and holy brow;
Her looks so saintly-sweet and pure,
Make men adore who come to woo "
Her neck, o'er which her tresses hing,
Is snow beneath a raven's wing.

Her lips are like the red-rose bud,
Dew-parted in a morn of June,
Her voice is gentler than the sound
Of some far heard and heavenly tune,
Her little finger, white and round
Can make a hundred hearts to bound.

My love's two eyes are bonnie stars,
Born to adorn the summer skies;
And I will by our tryste-thorn sit,

To watch them at their evening rise:
That when they shine on tower and tree,
Their heavenly light may fall on me.

Come, starry eve, demure and gray,

Now is the hour when maidens woo, Come shake o'er wood, and bank, and brae Thy tresses moist with balmy dew: Thy dew ne'er dropt on flower or tree, So lovely or so sweet as she.

The laverock's bosom shone with dew,
Beside us on the lilied lea,

She sung her mate down froin the cloud
To warble by my love and me;
Nor from her young ones sought to move,
For well she saw our looks were love.

HAME, HAME, HAME.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

Hame, hame, hame! Hame fain wad I be!

(hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the

tree,

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie;

Hame, hame, hame! Hame fain wad I be!

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa';
The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a';
But we'll water't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
And green it will graw in my ain countrie.

Hame, hame, hame! Hame fain wad I be!
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

There's nocht now frae ruin my country can save,
But the keys o' kind heaven, to open the grave,
That a' the noble martyrs, wha died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! Hame fain wad I be!
O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save;
The green grass is growing abune their bludie grave;
But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my e'e.
I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie.