THE CHARMED BARK.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

The tree that built my bonnie bark
Grew in a haunted glen,

In the west nook of an old kirk-yard,
Among the bones of men--

Among the bones of men, my lads,
And the axe that laid it low

Was temper'd in a dead man's blood,
And I dread no winds that blow.

Look on yon cloud, an old man said,
No larger than my hand;

And hearken to that sweeping blast,
That shakes the sea and land-
That shakes the sea and land, my lads,
And makes the waters foam;

A wise man when he looks on these
Would wish himself at home.

When I was late on Lapland's shore
I bought a gentle gale,

That

sung around me on the sea, And murmur'd in my sail S

That murmur'd in my milk-white sail,
With a friendly voice, and low:

A man who sails a charmed ship
Need fear no blasts that blow.

The hand which holds the winds at will
Will guide us while we roam:
When stormy heaven is burning bright,
And the wild sea in a foam-
And the wild sea in a foam, my lads,
While, sobbing sad and low,
The mother wails her sailor-boy
As she hears the tempest blow.

AE HAPPY HOUR.

ALEXANDER LAING.

The dark gray o' gloaming,

The lone leafy shaw,
The coo o' the ringdove,
The scent o' the haw,
The brae o' the burnie,

A' blooming in flower,
An' twa faithfu' lovers,

Make ae happy hour.

A kind winsome wifie,

A clean canty hame,
An' sweet smiling babies
To lisp the dear name;
Wi' plenty o' labour,

An' health to endure,
Make time row around ay
The ae happy hour.

Ye lost to affection,

Whom av'rice can move,

To woo, an' to marry,

For a' thing but love;

Awa' wi' your sorrows,
Awa' wi' your store,
Ye ken na the pleasures
O' ae happy hour.

PEGGIE.

JAMES HOGG.

The bittern's quavering trump on high,
The beetle's drowsy distant hum,
Have sung the daylight's lullaby,
And yet my Peggie is not come.
The golden primrose from the wood,

The scented hawthorn's snowy flower, Mixed with the laurel's buds, I've strewed

Deep in my maiden's woodland bower.

O come, my love, the branches link
Above our bed of blossoms new,

The stars behind their curtains wink,
To spare thine eyes so soft and blue.
No human eye, nor heavenly gem,

With envious smile our bliss shall see ;
The mountain ash his diadem

Shall spread to shield the dews from thee.

O let me hear thy fairy tread

Come gliding through the broomwood still, Then on my bosom lay thy head,

Till dawning crown the distant hill. And I will watch thy witching smile, List what has caused thy long delay, And kiss thy melting lips the while, Till die the sweet reproof away.

BONNIE LADY ANN.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

There's kames of honey 'tween my love's lips,

And gold amang her hair,

Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil;

Nae mortal een look there.

What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch,

Or what arm of love dare

span

The honey lips, the creamy palm,

Or the waist of Lady Ann!

She kisses the lips of her bonnie red rose,

Wat wi' the blobs of dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,

Maun touch her Lady mou.

But a broider'd belt, wi' a buckle of gold,

Her jimpy waist maun span—

O she's an armfu' fit for heaven,
My bonnie Lady Ann!

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers,

Tied up wi' silver thread,

An' comely sits she in the midst,

Men's longing een to feed.

She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,

Wi' her milky, milky han',

An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger of God,

My bonnie Lady Ann!

The morning cloud is tassel'd wi' gold,

Like my love's broider'd cap,

An' on the mantle which my

Is monie a golden drap.

love wears

Her bonnie eebrow's a holie arch

Cast by no earthlie han';

And the breath of God's atween the lips

Of my bonnie Lady Ann!