wad tak' my auld mither,
And let puir young Tibby abee.

JEAN LINN.

Oh, haud na' yer noddle sae hie, ma doo!
Oh, haud na' yer noddle sae hie!
The days that hae been, may be yet again seen,
Sae look na sae lightly on me, ma doo!
Sae look na' sae lightly on me!

Oh, geck na' at hame hodden gray, Jean Linn!
Oh, geck na' at hame hodden gray!
Yer gutcher an mine wad thocht themsels fine,
In cleedin' sae bein, bonnie May, bonnie May--
In cleedin' sae bein, bonnie May.

Ye mind when we won in Whinglen, Jean Linn--
Ye mind when we won in Whinglen,
Your daddy, douce carle, was cotter to mine,
An' our herd was yer bonnie sel', then, Jean Linn,
An' our herd was yer bonnie sel', then.

Oh, then ye were a' thing to me, Jean Linn,
Oh, then ye were a' thing to me!
An' the moments scour'd by, like birds through the sky,
When tentin' the owsen wi' thee, Jean Linn,
When tentin' the owsen wi' thee.

I twined ye a bower by the burn, Jean Linn,
I twined ye a bower by the burn,
But dreamt na that hour, as we sat in that bower,
That fortune wad tak' sic a turn, Jean Linn.
That fortune wad tak' sic a turn.

Ye busk noo in satins fu' braw, Jean Linn!
Ye busk noo in satins fu' braw!
Yer daddy's a laird, mine 's i' the kirkyard,
An' I 'm yer puir ploughman, Jock Law, Jean Linn,
An' I 'm yer puir ploughman, Jock Law.

BONNIE MARY.

When the sun gaes down, when the sun gaes down,
I 'll meet thee, bonnie Mary, when the sun gaes down;
I 'll row my apron up, an' I 'll leave the reeky town,
And meet thee by the burnie, when the sun gaes down.

By the burnie there 's a bower, we will gently lean us there,
An' forget in ither's arms every earthly care,
For the chiefest o' my joys, in this weary mortal roun',
Is the burnside wi' Mary when the sun gaes down.
When the sun gaes down, &c.

There the ruin'd castle tower on the distant steep appears,
Like a hoary auld warrior faded with years;
An' the burnie stealing by wi' a fairy silver soun',
Will soothe us wi' its music when the sun gaes down.
When the sun gaes down, &c.

The burnside is sweet when the dew is on the flower,
But 'tis like a little heaven at the trystin' hour;
And with pity I wo