Loud blaw the frosty breezes, The snaws the mountains cover; Like winter on me seizes Since my young Highland rover Far wanders nations over.

Altho’ my bed were in yon muir, Amang the heather, in my plaidie, Yet happy, happy would I be Had I my dear Montgomerie’s Pegg… When o’er the hill beat surly stor…

[First Setting] Comin thro’ the rye, poor body, Comin thro’ the rye, She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie Comin thro’ the rye.

“O cam ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man? Or were ye at the Sherra—moor, Or did the battle see, man?” “I saw the battle, sair and teugh

THOU, who thy honour as thy God… Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nou… To thee this votive offering I im… The tearful tribute of a broken he… The Friend thou valued’st, I, the…

1 Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 2 When Nature’s face is fai… 3 I walked forth to view the cor… 4 An’ snuff the caller air. 5 The risin’ sun owre Galston m…

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, Wi’ saut tears tricklin down your… Our bardie’s fate is at a close, Past a’ remead! The last, sad cape—stane o’ his wo…

Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy looks wave in the breeze… All freshly steep’d in morning dew… And maun I still on Menie doat,

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:

“PRAISE Woman still,” his lords… “Deserv’d or not, no matter?” But thee, whom all my soul adores, Ev’n Flattery cannot flatter: Maria, all my thought and dream,

WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond… An’ bar the doors wi’ driving snaw… An’ hing us owre the ingle, I set me down to pass the time, An’ spin a verse or twa o’ rhyme,

FINTRY, my stay in wordly strif… Friend o’ my muse, friend o’ my li… Are ye as idle’s I am? Come then, wi’ uncouth kintra fleg… O’er Pegasus I’ll fling my leg,

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…

WHILE briers an’ woodbines buddi… An’ paitricks scraichin loud at e’… An’ morning poussie whiddin seen, Inspire my muse, This freedom, in an unknown frien’…

Air—“Deil tak the wars.” Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar’d with real passio… Poor is all that princely pride.