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From Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of ancient Scottish songs.

My country, o'er thy mountains wild

Though stormy clouds may ride,
There's mony a noble generous heart
Sits round thy fireside.

Her ain fireside, my friends,

Her ain fireside ;
May ne'er a tyrant's ruthless arm

Rule o'er her fireside.

How cheery round the ingle-cheek

To hear cauld winter chide ;
While nappy ale an’ hearty tale
Gae round the fireside !
Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside ;
I'm glad to see ye a' set round

A social fireside.

The poison’d shafts that malice throws

O’er harmless pastime slide,
While honest worth an' cheerfu' mirth
Sit round the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside ;
The warmest glow o’ friendship’s flame

Shall heat the fireside.

On human worth by length of purse

Let worldly slaves decide ;
The heart to share the world's care
Aye heats the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;
The sterling value o' the heart

Aye gilds the fireside.

Through rocks and sands to distant lands

The sailor wanders wide,
In hopes to shield his crazy eild
By couthy fireside.

The couthy fireside, my friends,

The couthy fireside ;
Heaven send the lyart pow o' age

A couthy fireside.
"Tis Heaven that nerves the soldier's arm

The battle's heat to bide;
He boldly dares the fiercest foe
To shield his fireside.

His ain fireside, my friends,

His country's fireside;
Would ye but warm a coward's heart?-

Insult his fireside.
Gi'e luxury her painted domes,

Her palaces gi’e pride ;
But be my lot a snug warm cot
And canty fireside.

A canty fireside, my friends,

A canty fireside ;
Be aye my lot a snug warm cot

And canty fireside.
When bairnies brattlin round our knees

On chairs and stoolies ride,
What joy heaves up a parent's heart
To see his fireside !

To see his fireside, my friends,

His ain fireside ;
May Heaven protect the rising sprouts

Around his fireside.
Misfortune dour, wi' cauldrife stour,

A neighbour may betide; 'Twill edge a bit and lit him sit Just next the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside ;
May ne'er a cauld nor hungry heart

Gae by your fireside.

And, oh, may He whose powerful arm

The steps o' mortals guides,
Wi' health and wealth and length o' days
Bless a' our firesides !

Our ain firesides, my friends,

Our ain firesides ;
The choicest blessings Heaven bestows

Bless a' our firesides.

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Across the riggs we'll wander

The new-mawn hay amang,
And hear the blackbird in the wood,
And gi'e it sang

for

sang ;-
We'll gi'e it sang for sang, we will,
For ilka heart is gay,

As lads and lasses trip alang
At making o' the hay !

It is sae sweetly scented,

It seems a maiden's breath; Aboon the sun has wither'd it,

But there is green beneath ;

But there is caller green beneath, Come, lasses, foot away!

The heart is dowie can be cauld At making o' the hay !

Step lightly o’er, gang saftly by,

Mak’ rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,

We maun hae done at e'en ;

We maun hae done at gloaming e'en ; And when the clouds grow grey,

Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass Amang the new-made hay!

THE BONNIE ROWAN BUSH.

ROBERT NICOLL.

THE bonnie rowan bush
In
yon

lane glen,
Where the burnie clear doth gush

In yon lane glen ;
My head is white and auld,
An' my bluid is thin an' cauld ;
But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush
In yon

lane glen.

My Jeanie first I met

In yon lane glen,
When the grass wi' dew was wet

In yon lane glen;
The moon was shinin' sweet,
An' our hearts wi' love did beat,
By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen.

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