I

Cornylee.

ANN O' CORNYLEE.

'LL twine a gowany garland

W' lilies frae the spring;

The fairest flowers by Clutha's side
In a' their bloom I'll bring.

I'll wreathe a flowery wreath to shade

My lassie's scornfu' ee;

For, O, I canna bide the frown

O' Ann o' Cornylee.

Nae gilded ha', nae downie bed
My lowly cot maun cheer,
A sheilin' on the banks o' Gryfe
Is a' my worldly gear;

A lanely cot, wi' moss o'ergrown,

Is a' I ha'e to gi'e;

A leal heart, sinking 'neath the scorn

O' Ann o' Cornylee.

The linty 'mang the yellow broom,
The laverock in the lift,

Ha'e never sang the waes o' love

O' hope and joy bereft ;

Nor has the mavis ever sang

The ills I ha'e to dree,

John Crawford.

Corrie.

PHEMIE IRVING.

NAY is thy glen, Corrie,

U With all thy groves flowering; Green is thy glen, Corrie,

When July is showering;

And sweet is yon wood where
The small birds are bowering,
For there dwells the sweet one
Whom I am adoring.

Her round neck is whiter
Than winter when snowing;

Her meek voice is milder

Than Ae in its flowing; The glad ground yields music When she goes by the river; One kind glauce would charm me For ever and ever.

The proud and the wealthy
To Phemie are bowing;
No looks of love win they
With sighing and suing.
Far away maun I stand

With my rude wooing;
She's a floweret too lovely
To bloom for my pu'ing.

WH

Sing their successful loves;

Around the ewes and lambkins feed,

And music fills the groves.

But my loved song is then the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows;

For sure so sweet, so soft a bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.

There Colin tuned his oaten reed,
And won my yielding heart;

No shepherd e'er that played on Tweed
Could play with half such art.

He sung of Tay, of Forth and Clyde,
The hills and dales all round,
Of Leader-haughs and Leader side,
O, how I blessed the sound!

Yet more delightful is the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows;

For sure so fresh, so bright a bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.

Not Teviot braes, so green and gay,
May with this broom compare;
Not Yarrow banks in flowery May,
Nor the bush aboon Traguair.

More pleasing far are Cowdenknows,
My peaceful happy home,

Where I was wont to milk my ewes,
At eve among the broom.

Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains
Where Tweed with Teviot flows,

Convey me to the best of swains,

And my loved Cowdenknows.

John Crawford.

Craig Elachie.

CRAIG ELACHIE.

LUE are the hills above the Spey,

BLUE

The rocks are red that line his way;
Green is the strath his waters lave,
And fresh the turf upon the grave
Where sleep my sire and sisters three,
Where none are left to mourn for me:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!

The roofs that sheltered me and mine
Hold strangers of a Sassenach line;
Our hamlet thresholds ne'er can show
The friendly forms of long ago;
The rooks upon the old yew-tree
Would e'en have stranger notes to me:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie !

The cattle feeding on the hills,.
We tended once o'er moors and rills,
Like us have gone; the silly sheep
Now fleck the brown sides of the steep,
And southern eyes their watchers be,
And Gael and Sassenach ne'er agree:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!

Where are the elders of our glen,
Wise arbiters for meaner men?