Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend:
The wide world is all before us-
But a world without a friend.
SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.
TUNE-A Parcel of Rogues in a Nation.
FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands―
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
Oh would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could fell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.
SWEETEST MAY.
SWEETEST May, let love inspire thee;
Take a heart which he desires thee;
As thy constant slave regard it;
For its faith and truth reward it.
Proof o' shot to birth or money,
Not the wealthy but the bonnie;
Not high-born, but noble-minded,
In love's silken band can bind it.
THE BAIRNS GAT OUT.
TUNE-The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie.
THE Bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie, O!
The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin body, O!
He paidles out, an' he paidles in,
An' he paidles late an' early O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless Carlie, O!
O, haud your tongue my feirrie auld wife,
O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wadna been sae dousie, O!
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
And cuddled me late and early, O!
But downa do's come o'er me now,
And, oh! I feel it sairly, O!
TUNE-The Caledonian Hunt's Delight.
YE banks and braes o' bonnie doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chaunt, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed-never to return!
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
THE BANKS OF CREE.
TUNE-The Banks of Cree.
HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has toll'd the hour,
Oh, what can stay my lovely maid?
'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mix'd with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.
It is Maria's voice I hear!—
So calls the woodlark in the grove,
His little faithful mate to cheer;
At once 'tis music and 'tis love.
And art thou come ?-and art thou true?
Oh welcome, dear to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.
THE BANKS OF NITH.
TUNE-Robie donna Gorach.
THE Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stately stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,
Where Cummins ance had high command;
When shall I see that honour'd land,
That winding stream I love so dear!
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand
For ever, ever keep me here?
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom! How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,
Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom!
Tho' wandering now must be my doom,
Far from thy bonnie banks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days.
TUNE-Bhannerach dhon na chri.
How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, That steals on the evening each leaf to
Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and
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