Sidor som bilder

Ay, on each slip like famished vulture seize,

And trumpet loud its every trivial blunder. I'm independent, perfectly at ease,

No public obligation being under;
Then, Mesmerism, from me go thy ways—
Receive thy verdict, be it blame or praise.



Air-"Auld Johnny's content, and he's aye content like."

CHORUS. POO happy was I wi' my mither again, © Wi' my canty and canny auld mither again, Wha shook my cauld hands as she ca'd me her ain, Wi' the tear in her e'e as I met her again.

Embalmed in my bosom, to me ever dear
Be the night that I met her I fondly revere;
In her auld happy hame, hoo proud and hoo fain
I felt, and I glowed to embrace her again!

She led me in joy to the auld arm chair,
Whare smiled a glad faither, wha noo is nae mair,
Syne sat down aside her bit callant her lane,
And thanket the God wha restored him again.

Hoo fondly she speered hoo life wi' me passed,
And I tell’t her it a' frae the first to the last,
Wi' mingled emotions o' pleasure and pain,
And a smile or a sigh was her answer again.

The joys and the sorrows that fell to her lot,
Since the morning sae waefu' I left our bit cot,
She breathed in her turn in her ain hamely strain:
O hoo the heart thrilled as I heard her again!

Wi' her saft, gentle hand-I mind it yet fine-
Hoo she sleeked down my hair as she spak o'

Her words were as vernal as show'rs to the plain,
As the scenes of my boyhood renewed she again:

We quaffed aff a bumper-O haud by the wa'-
To the health o’ilk ither, and friends ane and a';
In pappet auld neebors, syne, round the hearthstane,
Was pledged frae the heart the drap “jorum” again.

Aye ready to hear, and her counsel to lend;
When my back’s at the wa', 0 she's aye my best

She's a joy for ilk cross, and the sting has she ta'en
Aft frae the bit canker, and healed it again.

The worth o'a mither’s but kent by her loss-
She's the gowd o' our being, the rest is but dross;
And what e'er befa’s us on life's squally main,
Then we steer for the haven, her bosom, again.

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