If thou hast met this fair one;
When frae her thou hast parted,
If every other fair one,

But her, thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted;
Oh that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;

Oh that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to peer her.

OH, WHARE DID YOU GET?

TUNE-Bonnie Dundee.

O, WHARE did you get that hauver meal bannock !

Oh silly blind body, oh dinna ye see? I gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, Between Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee.

Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me't!

Aft has he doubled me upon his knee: May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, And send him safe hame to his babie and me!

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie,

My blessin's upon thy bonnie ee-bree! Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie,

Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me!

But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear; And I'll cleed thee in the tartan sae fine, And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear.

OH WILLIE BREW'D.

TUNE-Willie brew'd a Peck o' Maut.

OH, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan cam to pree;
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are nae fou', we're no that fou'
But just a drappie in our ee;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys, I trow, are we;
And mony a night we've merry been,
And mony may we hope to be!

It is the moon, I ken her horn,

That's blinkin' in the lift sae high; She shines sae bright to wile us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee.

Wha first shall rise to gang awa',

A cuckold, coward loon is he! Wha last beside his chair shall fa',

He is the king amang us three !

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.

TUNE-If he be a Butcher neat and trim

ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass,
Could I describe her shape and mien;
The graces of her weel-faur'd face,
And the glancin' of her sparklin' een!

She's fresher than the morning dawn
When rising Phoebus first is seen,
When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
She's stately like yon youthful ash,

That grows the cowslip braes between,
And shoots its head above each bush ;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn,
With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn;

And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

Her looks are like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That shades the mountain-side at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past;

And she's twa glancin' sparklin' eeu.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene,
And gild the distant mountain's brow;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her voice is like the evening thrush
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen,
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her lips are like the cherries ripe

That sunny walls from Boreas screen-
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een.
Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep

And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks beneath the seas; And she's twa glancin' sparklin' een. But it's not her air, her form, her face, Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, But the mind that shines in every grace, And chiefly in her sparklin' een.

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.
TUNE-O'er the Hills, &c.

How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad?

low can I the thought forego,
He's on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are with him that's far away.

CHORUS.

On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are aye with him that's far away.

When in summer's noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in the scorching sun
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun :
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy!
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that's far away.

At the starless midnight hour,
When winter rules with boundless power;
As the storms the forest tear,

And thunders rend the howling air,
List'ning to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
All I can-I weep and pray,
For his weal that's far away.

Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild war his ravage end,