y care;
An' worthy o' the truest love
Is winsome Katie Blair.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] Printed from the Author's MS.

DAVID TAYLOR.

David Taylor was born, in April 1817, in the parish of Dollar, and
county of Clackmannan. In early life his parents, having removed to the
village of St Ninians, near Stirling, he was there apprenticed to a
tartan manufacturer. He has continued to reside at St Ninians, and has
been chiefly employed as a tartan weaver. He has written numerous poems
and lyrics, and composed music to some of the more popular songs.
Latterly he has occupied himself as a teacher of vocal music.

MY AIN GUDEMAN.

O dear, dear to me
Is my ain gudeman,
For kindly, frank, an' free
Is my ain gudeman.
An' though thretty years ha'e fled,
An' five sin' we were wed,
Nae bitter words I 've had
Wi' my ain gudeman.

I 've had seven bonnie bairns
To my ain gudeman,
An' I 've nursed them i' their turns
For my ain gudeman;
An' ane did early dee,
But the lave frae skaith are free,
An' a blessin' they 're to me
An' my ain gudeman.

I cheerie clamb the hill
Wi' my ain gudeman;
An', if it 's Heaven's will,
Wi' my ain gudeman,
In life's calm afternoon,
I wad toddle cannie doun,
Syne at the foot sleep soun'
Wi' my ain gudeman.

ROBERT CATHCART.

Robert Cathcart was born in 1817, and follows the occupation of a weaver
in Paisley. Besides a number of fugitive pieces of some merit, he
published, in 1842, a small collection of verses entitled, "The Early
Blossom."

MARY

Sweet 's the gloamin's dusky gloom,
Spreadin' owre the lea, Mary;
Sweeter far thy love in bloom,
Whilk blaws alane for me, Mary.
When the woods in silence sleep,
And is hid in dusk the steep,
When the flowers in sorrow weep
I 'll sigh and smile wi' thee, Mary.

When love plays in rosy beams
Roun' the hawthorn-tree, Mary,
Then thine e'e a language gleams
Whilk tells o' love for me, Mary.
When thy sigh blends wi' my smile,
Silence reigns o'er us the while,
Then my heart, 'mid flutt'ring toil,
Tells thy love's bloom'd for me, Mary.

When our hands are join'd in love,
Ne'er to part again, Mary,
Till death ance mair his arrows prove
And tak us for his ain, Mary;
Then our joys are crown'd