Then when the toils of the day are all over, Gathered, delighted, set round in a ring-- Youth, with its mirthfulness--age, with its cheerfulness, Brimful of happiness, cheerily sing, "Bright may our spirits be-- Happy and ever free.

Blest are the joys that from innocence spring."

GOOD MORROW.[3]

Good morrow, good morrow! warm, rosy, and bright, Glow the clouds in the east, laughing heralds of light; Whilst still as the glorious colours decay, Full gushes of music seem tracking their way.

Hark! hark!

Is it the sheep-bell among the ling, Or the early milkmaid carolling?

Hark! hark!

Or is it the lark, As he bids the sun good-morrow?-- Good-morrow; Though every day brings sorrow.

The daylight is dying, the night drawing near, The workers are silent; yet ringing and clear, From the leafiest tree in the shady bowers, Comes melody falling in silvery showers.

Hark! hark!

Is it the musical chime on the hill, That sweetly ringeth when all is still?

Hark! hark!

Oh, sweeter than lark, Is the nightingale's song of sorrow, Of sorrow; But pleasure will come to-morrow.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] One of the stanzas of this song is the composition of the late Mary Russell Mitford and appears in her tale of Atherton. The other stanza was composed by Mr Bennoch, at the urgent request of his much loved friend.

OH, WAE'S MY LIFE.

Oh, wae's my life, and sad my heart, The saut tears fill my e'e, Willie, Nae hope can bloom this side the tomb, Since ye hae gane frae me, Willie.

O' warl's gear I couldna' boast, But now I'm poor indeed, Willie; The last fond hope I leant upon, Has fail'd me in my need, Willie.

For wealth or fame ye've left your Jean, Forgat your plighted vow, Willie; Can honours proud dispel the cloud, That darkens on your brow, Willie?

Oh, was I then a thing sae mean, For nought but beauty prized, Willie; Caress'd a'e day, then flung away, A fading flower despised, Willie?

Sin' love has fled, and hope is dead, Soon my poor heart maun break, Willie; As your ain life, oh, guard your wife-- I 'll love her for your sake, Willie.

Through my despair, oh, mony a prayer, Will rise for her and ye, Willie; That ye may prove to her, in love, Mair faithfu' than to me, Willie.

HEY, MY BONNIE WEE La.s.sIE.

Hey, my bonnie wee la.s.sie, Blythe and cheerie wee la.s.sie, Will ye wed a canty carle, Bonnie, bonnie wee la.s.sie?

I ha'e sheep, an' I ha'e kye, I ha'e wheat, an' I ha'e rye, An' heaps o' siller, la.s.s, forbye, That ye shall spen' wi' me, la.s.sie!

Hey, my bonnie wee la.s.sie, Blythe and cheerie wee la.s.sie, Will ye wed a canty carle, Bonnie, bonnie wee la.s.sie?

Ye shall dress in damask fine, My goud and gear shall a' be thine, And I to ye be ever kin'.

Say,--will ye marry me, la.s.sie?

Hey, my bonnie wee la.s.sie, Blythe and cheerie wee la.s.sie, Will ye wed a canty carle, Bonnie, smiling wee la.s.sie?

Gae hame, auld man, an' darn your hose, Fill up your lanky sides wi' brose, An' at the ingle warm your nose; But come na courtin' me, carle.

Oh, ye tottering auld carle, Silly, clavering auld carle, The hawk an' doo shall pair, I trew, Before I pair wi' ye, carle!

Your heart is cauld an' hard as stanes, Ye ha'e nae marrow in your banes, An' siller canna buy the brains That pleasure gie to me, carle!

Oh, ye tottering auld carle, Silly, clavering auld carle, The hound an' hare may seek ae lair, But I'll no sleep wi' ye, carle.

I winna share your gowd wi' ye, Your withering heart, an' watery e'e; In death I'd sooner shrouded be Than wedded to ye, auld carle!

Oh, ye tottering auld carle, Silly, clavering auld carle, When roses blaw on leafs o' snaw, I'll bloom upon your breast, carle.

But there's a lad, an' I'm his ain, May heaven blessings on him rain!

Though plackless, he is unco fain, And he's the man for me, carle!

Oh, youth an' age can ne'er agree; Though rich, you're no the man for me.

Gae hame, auld carle, prepare to dee; Pray heaven to be your bride, carle.

BESSIE.

Oh, mony a year has come and gane, An' mony a weary day, Sin' frae my hame, my mountain hame, I first was lured away, To wander over unco lands, Far, far ayont the sea; But no to find a land like this, The hame o' Bess an' me!

I've traversed mony a dreary land, Across the braid, braid sea; But, oh, my native mountain hame, My thochts were aye wi' thee.

As certain as the sun wad rise, And set ahint the sea, Sae constant, Bessie, were my prayers, At morn an' nicht for thee;

When I return'd unto my hame, The hills were clad wi' snow; Though they look'd cold and cheerless, love, My heart was in a glow.

Though keen the wintry north wind blew, Like summer 'twas to me; For, Bess, my frame was warm wi' love, Of country, kindred, thee!

Nae flower e'er hail'd wi' sweeter smiles Returning sunny beams, Than I then hailed my native hame, Its mountains, woods, and streams.

Now we are met, my bonnie Bess, We never mair will part; Although to a' we seem as twa, We only hae ae heart!

We 'll be sae loving a' the nicht, Sae happy a' the day, That though our bodies time may change, Our love shall ne'er decay: As gently as yon lovely stream Declining years shall run, An' life shall pa.s.s frae our auld clay, As snow melts 'neath the sun.

COURTSHIP.

Yestreen on Cample's bonnie flood The summer moon was shining; While on a bank in Chrichope wood Two lovers were reclining: They spak' o' youth, an' h.o.a.ry age, O' time how swiftly fleeting, Of ilka thing, in sooth, but ane,-- The reason of their meeting!

When Willie thoucht his heart was firm, An' might declare its feeling, A glance frae Bessy's starry een Sent a' his senses reeling; For aye when he essay'd to speak, An' she prepared to hear him, The thought in crimson dyed his cheek, But words would no come near him!

'Tis ever thus that love is taught By his divinest teacher; He silent adoration seeks, But shuns the prosy preacher.

Now read me right, ye gentle anes, Nor deem my lesson hollow; The deepest river silent rins, The babbling brook is shallow.