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THE HIRSEL YET FOR ME.

ffli WAY! ye orient groves, away! £87 Where fragrant citrons bloom; The orange, lime, and myrtle gay,

Exhale their sweet perfume;
Nor name those balmy spicy dells,

Though florulent they be,
Their fairy charms let others sing,

The Hirsel yet for me!
Elysian spot, while lasts a string,

My lyre I'll tune to thee.

How sweet to roam thy sunny glades,

Where wild the flow'rets blow!
Who for thy soft ambrosial shades,

The world would not forego 1
Where native minstrels melting pour

Their lays from every tree,
And every heart forgets its care:

The Hirsel yet for me!
Elysian spot, while lasts a string,

My lyre I'll tune to thee.

Unrivalled Flora's loved retreat,

Thy smiling garden, hail;
An Eden here renewed to meet,

What fancy now can fail,

As angels' breath thy zephyrs sweet;

And oh, the ecstasy,
When greets the eye thy blushing walls—

The Hirsel yet for me!
Elysian spot, while lasts a string,

My lyre I'll tune to thee.

Dear to my soul, thrice lovely bower,

Those nameless sweets of thine; And oh their heaven-inspiring power,

How thrilling, how divine!
Here let me linger to enjoy,

Alone, their luxury;
I ask no higher earthly boon—

The Hirsel yet for me!
Elysian spot, while lasts a string,

My lyre I'll tune to thee.

And hail, yon venerable pile,

Thy hospitable dome;
May peace and plenty ever smile,

To bless the home of Home!
And now adieu, thy magic scenes;

My fondest memory
Shall ever homage with the lay—

The Hirsel yet for me I
Elysian spot, while lasts a string,

My lyre I'll tune to thee.

s THE BAKROW.

Air—"You've a' heard tell o' Rob Rorieon'e Bannet."

CHOEUS. (31 ND wha in the dub hasna heard o' the barrow? &£2 Lang hae our lugs rung wi' the sang o' the

barrow 1 I now wad a croun that she ne'er had a marrow, And challenge braid Scotland to match wi' the barrow.

Her frame was o' aik, and the "ready " to hain,
For the rest then an auld sugar barrel was ta'en;
Her braw nicket wheel an auld mangle ance graced—
As it saved muckle fash, so it suited his taste.

Nae plane upon earth durst her venture to brave,
Whase service a willing kail gully did save;
Wi' mountains o' potty—though strange, it is true—
Syne diced was she aff in a coat o' sky blue.

Still critics—confound them, their fauts they maun

hae; How they quiz, how they quarrel, e'en do as we may— Like flees, to ilk sair o' the barrow they clang; Dcil hae't that was dune but they swore it was wrang.

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There hogin' and laughin' wi' muckle pretence,
To catch and to cavil sat auld neebor Spence,
And auld cooper Jamie, sae witty and douce,
Wi' tailors and pedlars sae cracky and croose.

Her talented artist to name it might vex,

Ye'll pick him up by the red pirnie and specks.

Our fun at her making I mind it yet fine;

'Twas only last summer—I've aye laughed since syne.

Sae in his auld garret as sacred she lies,
A type o' perfection, a feast to the eyes;
Wi' mony a wonder and model o' skill,
Defying baith pencil and pen to reveal.

THE LILY O' THE WEST.

Tune—" Of a' the airta the Wind can blaw."

iAF a' the flowers that ever bloomed
^^ Where rills and rivers flow,
On hill and dale, in wood and vale,

Or paradise below:
Sae sweet and fair, what can compare

Wi' it, the first and best?
Then let me string my harp, and sing

The lily o' the West.

Adorned wi' a' that can adorn,

There every grace we trace
That earth can love or heaven approve

Among the lily race:
Sweet Nature's child—young, modest, mild—

How can they be exprest
Thy cherub charms 1—come to my arms

The lily o' the West.

How rich, beyond the power o' wealth,

Would not I be wi' thee,
Thou gem divine, O wert thou mine—

But can that ever be?

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