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THE AULD MAN'S SOLILOQUY.

Air—" The Flowers o' the Forest.”

AWA, ye gay warld ! a' lanely and eerie

I cower ower the ingle baith dowie and wae: Hoo heartless the hame whare a' ance was cheery

O welcome release, hoo I lang for the day!

I'm auld noo, and donnert, and naething's a pleasure:

I hirple about, but in sorrow and pain;
I sich and I sab, and the weary hours measure-

Unnoticed I pine, and unpitied complain.

Frae a' that I liket noo severed for ever;

O hard is the fate that compels me to mourn! The flowers may revive, but never, O never,

To me shall the spring of the bosom return.

As the ivy yestreen frae yon auld tree was riven,

I thocht o' the hour, wi' the tear in my e'e, When torn frae my heart was my Nancy by Heaven,

And helpless she left our bit lammies and me.

But sin' her last blessing to us she imparted,

As fondly her cauld, dewy hand then I pressed, What changes, alas ! and hoo often has smarted,

And keenly, this weary and careworn breast !

As lovely young birdies are scattered in Summer,

Sae our bonny bairnies are noo ane and a'; And aften returned has the leaf to the timmer

Sin' Jamie, the flower o' the flock, gaed awa.

Sae well as he liket aye me and his mither

But O the tongue flutters, my heart it is sairSad tidings this e’enin’; wi' Willie, his brither,

He slumbers afar, and I'll ne'er see him mair.

Noo peace to our dead, and lang health to the leevin',

And ne'er may their lot be sae chequered as mine; But sune their auld faither, his sorrow and grievin',

For rest and repose in the grave maun resign.

Then awa, ye gay warld! a'lanely and eerie

I cower ower the ingle baith dowie and wae: Hoo heartless the hame where a' ance was cheery

O welcome release, hoo I lang for the day !

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DIEU ! lovely Polton, by Esk’s winding river !

Adieu ! now I bid thee with sorrow and care; How cruel the fate that compels us to sever,

And rude the assaults that the bosom must bear !

Oh sacred to me are thy groves and sweet bowers, Resounding with gladness and Love's mellow

strain; Thy green sloping heights and thy gardens of flowers,

Though never, alas ! shall I tread them again.

How aft through thy green woods, unseen, at the

gloaming, And down the lone glen we fondly have strayed— My loved one and I—and when wearied with roaming We sought for a shrine in the spreading beech

shade.

There hallowed the moments that over us glided,

In heart-thrilling raptures the hours fled away; Earth smiled, a fair Eden our fancies had lighted,

All pleasure, all promise, unmarred by decay.

Yon ivy green cottage, can e'er I forget it,

Sweet home of the heart, and to me ever dear ? That morning I left it, I'll ever regret it,

And name it through life with a sigh or a tear.

No more there I meet with the friendly embraces,

And hail the soft voice that was magic to me; Nor there round the hearth, 'mong the few happy

faces, I join in the laugh and the songs of the free.

But mute is my lyre, and the spell it is broken,

The glow of the heart and its verdure are gone; Clouds o'er the wild gather, that sadly betoken

The future enveloped in tempest alone.

Then, adieu ! lovely Polton, by Esk's winding river !

Adieu ! now I bid thee with sorrow and care; How cruel the fate that compels us to sever,

And rude the assaults that the bosom must bear!

WE'LL NE'ER HAE PEACE TILL THE

SILLER'S SENT HAME.

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PAY bonny Tweedside, yestreen as I strayed,
© Aneth a grey rock an auld man I surveyed;
And thus aye he sang, as the tears drappin' came;-
O we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller’s sent hame.

O Willie, O Willie, and a' your black train,
Had you been sae wise as guid counsel to ta’en,
Ye had turned frae the States, and recoiled at your

aim For we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame.

In the licht o' your conscience, if ony ye hae,
Was yours sic a card as true honour could play?
Ye may preach and pretend, but you're muckle to

blameFor we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame.

Did ever O'Connell sae basely behave ?
Ah ! no: he disdained the foul price o' the slave.
Then ca' him nae mair, nor put knave to his name-
As we'll ne'er hae peace till the siller's sent hame.

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