fleet mountain roes they are lyin',
Or feedin' their fawns, love, for you.

Right sweet are our scenes i' the gloamin',
Whan shepherds return frae the hill,
Aroun' by the banks o' Loch Lomon',
While bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill.

Right sweet is the low-setting sunbeams,
That points owre the quivering stream;
But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary,
And kinder the blinks o' her een.

THE BANKS OF TARF.

TUNE--_"Sin' my Uncle 's dead."_

Where windin' Tarf, by broomy knowes
Wi' siller waves to saut sea rows;
And mony a greenwood cluster grows,
And harebells bloomin' bonnie, O!
Below a spreadin' hazle lea,
Fu' snugly hid whare nane could see,
While blinkin' love beam'd frae her e'e,
I met my bonnie Annie, O!

Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue,
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew;
But O! her e'e, o' azure blue,
Was past expression bonnie, O!
Like threads o' gowd her flowin' hair,
That lightly wanton'd wi' the air;
But vain were a' my rhymin' ware
To tell the charms o' Annie, O!

While smilin' in my arms she lay,
She whisperin' in my ear did say,
"Oh, how could I survive the day,
Should you prove fause, my Tammie, O?"
"While spangled fish glide to the main,
While Scotlan's braes shall wave wi' grain,
Till this fond heart shall break wi' pain,
I 'll aye be true to Annie, O!"

The Beltan winds blew loud and lang,
And ripplin' raised the spray alang;
We cheerfu' sat, and cheerfu' sang,
The banks of Tarf are bonnie, O!
Though sweet is spring, whan young and gay,
And blithe the blinks o' summer day;
I fear nae winter cauld and blae,
If blest wi' love and Annie, O!

O! WILL YE GO TO YON BURN SIDE.

TUNE--_"Will ye walk the woods with me?"_

O! will ye go to yon burn side,
Amang the new-made hay;
And sport upon the flowery swaird,
My ain dear May?

The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side,
Whar lambkins lightly play,
The wild bird whistles to his mate,
My ain dear May.

The waving woods, wi' mantle green,
Shall shield us in the bower,
Whare I 'll pu' a posy for my May,
O' mony a bonnie flower.
My father maws ayont the burn,
My mammy spins at hame;
And should they see thee here wi' me,
I 'd better been my lane.

The lightsome lammie