wy wing,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and mountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place--
O to abide in the desert with thee!

[52] For the fine original air, see Purdie's "Border Garland."--_Hogg._

CALEDONIA.[53]

Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind--
Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak,
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind:
Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens,
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans,
That roam on these mountains so drear!

A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;
The marshall'd array of imperial Rome
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain!
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free,
The Muses have left all the vales of the south,
My loved Caledonia, for thee!

Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps,
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps,
A calm little motionless heaven!
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm, and the proud-rolling wave--
Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave!

[53] An appropriate air has just been composed for this song by Mr
Walter Burns of Cupar-Fife, which has been arranged with symphonies and
accompaniments for the pianoforte by Mr Edward Salter, of St Andrews.

O, JEANIE, THERE 'S NAETHING TO FEAR YE!

AIR--_"Over the Border."_

O, my lassie, our joy to complete again,
Meet me again i' the gloamin', my dearie;
Low down in the dell let us meet again--
O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!
Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry,
Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary;
Love be thy sure defence,
Beauty and innocence--
O, Jeanie, ther