elang day,
Wha's to tell her the road we'll gae?
For the cannie Gowk, tho' he kens it a',
He winna' say!

THE JACOBITE LASS

My love stood at the loanin' side
An' held me by the hand,
The bonniest lad that e'er did bide
In a' this waefu' land--
There's but ae bonnier to be seen
Frae Pentland to the sea,
And for his sake but yestre'en
I sent my love frae me.

I gi'ed my love the white white rose
That's at my feyther's wa',
It is the bonniest flower that grows
Whaur ilka flower is braw;
There's but ae bonnier that I ken
Frae Perth unto the main,
An' that's the flower o' Scotland's men
That's fechtin' for his ain.

Gin I had kept whate'er was mine
As I hae gie'd my best,
My he'rt were licht by day, and syne
The nicht wad bring me rest;
There is nae heavier he'rt to find
Frae Forfar toon to Ayr,
As aye I sit me doon to mind
On him I see nae mair.

Lad, gin ye fa' by Chairlie's side
To rid this land o' shame,
There winna be a prooder bride
Than her ye left at hame,
But I will seek ye whaur ye sleep
Frae lawlands to the peat,
An ilka nicht at mirk I'll creep
To lay me at yer feet.

MAGGIE

Maggie, I ken that ye are happ'd in glory
And nane can gar ye greet;
The joys o' Heaven are evermair afore ye,
It's licht about yer feet.

I ken nae waefu' thochts can e'er be near ye
Nor sorrow fash yer mind,
In yon braw place they winna let ye weary
For him ye left behind.

Thae nichts an' days when dule seems mair nor double
I'll need to dae my best,
For aye ye took the half o' ilka trouble,
And noo I'd hae ye rest.

Yer he'rt'll be the same he'rt since yer flittin',
Gin auld love doesna tire,
Sae dinna look an' see yer lad that's sittin'
His lane aside the fire.

The sky is keen wi' dancin' stars in plenty,
The New Year frost is strang;
But, O my lass! because the Auld Year kent ye
I'm sweir to let it gang!

But time drives forrit; and on ilk December
There waits a New Year yet,
An naething bides but what our he'rts remember--
Maggie, ye'll na forget?

THE WHUSTLIN' LAD

There's a wind comes doon frae the braes when the licht is spreadin'
Chilly an' grey,
An' the auld cock craws at the yett o' the muirland steadin'
Cryin' on day;
The hoose lies sound an' the sma' mune's deein' an' weary
Watchin' her lane,
The shadows creep by the dyke an' the time seems eerie,
But the lad i' the fields he is whustlin'