Whare'er I rest, whare'er I range,
My fancy fondly travels thither;
Nae countrie charms, nae customs change
My feelings frae the Hielan' heather!
Hey, for the Hielan' heather!

FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND.

AIR--_"Kinloch."_

Loved land of my kindred, farewell--and for ever!
Oh! what can relief to the bosom impart;
When fated with each fond endearment to sever,
And hope its sweet sunshine withholds from the heart!
Farewell, thou fair land! which, till life's pulse shall perish,
Though doom'd to forego, I shall never forget,
Wherever I wander, for thee will I cherish
The dearest regard and the deepest regret.

Farewell, ye great Grampians, cloud-robed and crested!
Like your mists in the sunbeam ye melt in my sight;
Your peaks are the king-eagle's thrones--where have rested
The snow-falls of ages--eternally white.
Ah! never again shall the falls of your fountains
Their wild murmur'd music awake on mine ear;
No more the lake's lustre, that mirrors your mountains,
I'll pore on with pleasure--deep, lonely, yet dear.

Yet--yet Caledonia! when slumber comes o'er me,
Oh! oft will I dream of thee, far, far, away;
But vain are the visions that rapture restore me,
To waken and weep at the dawn of the day.
Ere gone the last glimpse, faint and far o'er the ocean,
Where yet my heart dwells--where it ever shall dwell,
While tongue, sigh and tear, speak my spirit's emotion,
My country--my kindred--farewell, oh farewell!

THE ROSE OF SEATON VALE.

A bonnie Rose bloom'd wild and fair,
As sweet a bud I trow
As ever breathed the morning air,
Or drank the evening dew.
A Zephyr loved the blushing flower,
With sigh and fond love tale;
It woo'd within its briery bower
The rose of Seaton Vale.

With wakening kiss the Zephyr press'd
This bud at morning light;
At noon it fann'd its glowing breast,
And nestled there at night.
But other flowers sprung up thereby,
And lured the roving gale;
The Zephyr left to droop and die
The Rose of Seaton Vale.

A matchless maiden dwelt by Don,
Loved by as fair a youth;
Long had their young hearts throbb'd as one
Wi' tenderness and truth.
Thy warmest tear, soft Pity, pour--
For Ellen's type and tale
Are in that sweet, ill-f