And think when thou hast dried the bitter tear,

That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,

I may look back on many a sorrow past, And greet life's peaceful evening with a smile

As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,

Sings in the sunshine of the transient shower,

Forgetful, though its wings be wet the while.

But ah! what ills must that poor heart. endure,

Who hopes from thee, and thee alone,

a cure.

THE CHOUGH AND CROW.

THE Chough and Crow to roost are gone

The owl sits on the tree

The hush'd winds wail with feeble moan, Like infant charity.

The wild fire dances o'er the fen

The red star sheds its ray;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our op'ning day.

Both child and nurse are fast asleep,
And clos'd is ev'ry flower;
And winking tapers faintly peep,
High from my lady's bower.
Bewilder'd hind with shorten'd ken,
Shrink on their murky way:
Uprouse ye then, my merry men,
It is our op'ning day.

Nor board, nor garner own we now,
Nor roof, nor latched door,
Nor kind mate bound by holy vow
To bless a good man's store.
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,

And night is grown our day:
Uprouse ye then, my merry men,
And use it as we may.

SONG.

[Version taken from an old song, Woo'd and married and a'.

THE bride she is winsome and bonny, Her hair it is snooded sae sleek, And faithfu' and kind is her Johnny,

Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
New pearlins are cause of her sorrow,
New pearlins and plenishing too;
The bride that has a' to borrow
Has e'en right mickle ado.

Woo'd and married and a'!
Woo'd and married and a'!
Is na' she very weel aff

To be woo'd and married at a'?

Her mither then hastily spak,

"The lassie is glaikit wi' pride; In my pouch I had never a plack

On the day when I was a bride. E'en tak to your wheel and be clever,

And draw out your thread in the sun; The gear that is gifted it never Will last like the gear that is won. Woo'd and married and a'! Wi' havins and tocher 3 sae sma'! I think ye are very weel aff

To be woo'd and married at a'." 1 finery, lace. 2 silly. 3 goods and dowry.

"Toot, toot," quo' her gray-headed

faither,

"She's less o' a bride than a bairn, She's ta'en like a cout frae the heather, Wi' sense and discretion to learn. Half husband, I trow, and half daddy, As humor inconstantly leans, The chiel maun be patient and steady That yokes wi' a mate in her teens.

A kerchief sae douce and sae neat O'er her locks that the wind used to blaw!

I'm baith like to laugh and to greet

When I think of her married at a'!"

Then out spak the wily bridegroom,

Weel waled were his wordies, I ween, "I'm rich, though my coffer be toom, 2 Wi' the blinks o' your bonny blue

e'en.

I'm prouder o' thee by my side

Though thy ruffles or ribbons be few, Than if Kate o' the Croft were my bride Wi' purfles and pearlins enow.

Dear and dearest of ony!
Ye're woo'd and buikit and a'!
And do ye think scorn o' your Johnny,
And grieve to be married at a' ?"

She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smiled,

And she looked sae bashfully down; The pride o' her heart was beguiled, And she played wi' the sleeves o' her gown.

She twirled the tag o' her lace,

And she nipped her bodice sae blue,
Syne blinkit sae sweet in his face,
And aff like a maukin she flew.

Woo'd and married and a'!
Wi' Johnny to roose her and a'!
She thinks hersel very weel aff

To be woo'd and married at a'!

THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD.

THE gowan glitters on the sward,
The lavrock's in the sky,
And Colley in my plaid keeps ward,
And time is passing by.

Oh, no! sad and slow!
I hear no welcome sound,
The shadow of our trysting bush,
It wears so slowly round.

My sheep bells tinkle frae the west,
My lambs are bleating near;
But still the sound that I lo'e best,
Alack! I canna hear.

Oh, no! sad and slow!
The shadow lingers still,
And like a lanely ghaist I stand,
And croon upon the hill.

I hear below the water roar,
The mill wi' clacking din,
And Luckey scolding frae her door,
To bring the bairnies in.

Oh, no! sad and slow!
These are nae sounds for me;
The shadow of our trysting bush,
It creeps sae drearily.

I coft yestreen, frae Chapman Tam,
A snood of bonnie blue,
And promised when our trysting cam',
To tie it round her brow!

Oh, no! sad and slow!
The time it winna pass:
The shadow of that weary thorn

Is tether'd on the grass.

O, now I see her on the way,

She's past the witches' knowe, She's climbing up the brownie's brae; My heart is in a lowe.

Oh, no! 'tis not so!

'Tis glamrie I ha'e seen!

The shadow of that hawthorn bush
Will move nae mair till e'en.