This air is by Marshall; the song I composed out of compliment to Mrs.

Burns.

N.B. It was during the honeymoon.

CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO EXPLORE.

The song is by Dr. Blacklock; I believe, but am not quite certain, that the air is his too.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

This air was formerly called, "The bridegroom greets when the sun gangs down." The words are by Lady Ann Lindsay, of the Balcarras family.

DONALD AND FLORA.

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, preserved from time immemorial in the Hebrides; they seem to be the ground-work of many of our finest Scots pastoral tunes. The words of this song were written to commemorate the unfortunate expedition of General Burgoyne in America, in 1777.

O WERE I ON PARNa.s.sUS' HILL.

This air is Oswald's; the song I made out of compliment to Mrs. Burns.

THE CAPTIVE ROBIN.

This air is called "Robie donna Gorach."

THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY.

This air is claimed by Neil Gow, who calls it his lament for his brother. The first half-stanza of the song is old; the rest mine.

MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.

The first half-stanza of this song is old; the rest is mine.

CA' THE EWES AND THE KNOWES.

This beautiful song is in true old Scotch taste, yet I do not know that either air or words were in print before.

THE BRIDAL O'T.

This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander Ross, late schoolmaster at Lochlee; and author of a beautiful Scots poem, called "The Fortunate Shepherdess."

"They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't, They say that Jockey 'll speed weel o't, For he grows brawer ilka day, I hope we'll hae a bridal o't: For yesternight nae farder gane, The backhouse at the side wa' o't, He there wi' Meg was mirden seen, I hope we'll hae a bridal o't.

An' we had but a bridal o't, An' we had but a bridal o't, We'd leave the rest unto gude luck, Altho' there should betide ill o't: For bridal days are merry times, And young folks like the coming o't, And scribblers they bang up their rhymes, And pipers they the b.u.mming o't.

The la.s.ses like a bridal o't, The la.s.ses like a bridal o't, Their braws maun be in rank and file, Altho' that they should guide ill o't: The boddom o' the kist is then Turn'd up into the inmost o't, The end that held the kecks sae clean, Is now become the teemest o't.

The bangster at the threshing o't.

The bangster at the threshing o't, Afore it comes is fidgin-fain, And ilka day's a clashing o't: He'll sell his jerkin for a groat, His linder for anither o't, And e'er he want to clear his shot, His sark'll pay the t.i.ther o't

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, The pipers and the fiddlers o't, Can smell a bridal unco' far, And like to be the middlers o't; Fan[293] thick and threefold they convene, Ilk ane envies the t.i.ther o't, And wishes nane but him alane May ever see anither o't.

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, For dancing they gae to the green, And aiblins to the beating o't: He dances best that dances fast, And loups at ilka reesing o't, And claps his hands frae hough to hough, And furls about the feezings o't."

TODLEN HAME.

This is perhaps the first bottle song that ever was composed.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

This air is the composition of my friend Allan Masterton, in Edinburgh. I composed the verses on the amiable and excellent family of Whitefoords leaving Ballochmyle, when Sir John's misfortunes had obliged him to sell the estate.

THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DADDIE O'T.