To ilka pleasure, ilka pang, Alak! I am nae stranger; An' he wha aince has wander'd wrang Is best aware o' danger.

May still thy heart be kind an' true, A' ither maids excelling; May heaven distil its purest dew Around thy rural dwelling.

May flow'rets spring an' wild birds sing Around thee late an' early; An' oft to thy remembrance bring The lad that loo'd thee dearly.

[60] This song was addressed, in 1811, to Miss Margaret Phillips, who in nine years afterwards became the poet's wife.

GANG TO THE BRAKENS WI' ME.

I 'll sing of yon glen of red heather, An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame, Wha 's a' made o' love-life thegither, Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kaime, Love beckons in every sweet motion, Commanding due homage to gie; But the shrine o' my dearest devotion Is the bend o' her bonny e'ebree.

I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear la.s.sie To gang to the brakens wi' me; But though neither lordly nor saucy, Her answer was--"Laith wad I be!

I neither hae father nor mither, Sage counsel or caution to gie; An' prudence has whisper'd me never To gang to the brakens wi' thee."

"Dear la.s.sie, how can ye upbraid me, An' try your ain love to beguile?

For ye are the richest young lady That ever gaid o'er the kirk-stile.

Your smile that is blither than ony, The bend o' your cheerfu' e'ebree, An' the sweet blinks o' love there sae bonny, Are five hunder thousand to me!"

She turn'd her around an' said, smiling, While the tear in her blue e'e shone clear, "You 're welcome, kind sir, to your mailing, For, O, you have valued it dear: Gae make out the lease, do not linger, Let the parson indorse the decree; An' then, for a wave of your finger, I 'll gang to the brakens wi' thee!"

There 's joy in the bright blooming feature, When love lurks in every young line; There 's joy in the beauties of nature, There 's joy in the dance and the wine: But there 's a delight will ne'er perish, 'Mang pleasures all fleeting and vain, And that is to love and to cherish The fond little heart that's our ain!

LOCK THE DOOR, LARISTON.

Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale, Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on, The Armstrongs are flying, Their widows are crying, The Castletown's burning, and Oliver's gone; Lock the door, Lariston,--high on the weather gleam, See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky, Yeoman and carbineer, Billman and halberdier; Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry.

Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar, Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey, Hedley and Howard there, Wandale and Windermere,-- Lock the door, Lariston, hold them at bay.

Why dost thou smile, n.o.ble Elliot of Lariston?

Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye?

Thou bold Border ranger Beware of thy danger-- Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh.

Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous embrace; "Ah, welcome, brave foemen, On earth there are no men More gallant to meet in the foray or chase!

Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here, Little know you of our moss-troopers' might, Lindhope and Sorby true, Sundhope and Milburn too, Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!

"I 've Margerton, Gornberry, Raeburn, and Netherby, Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array; Come, all Northumberland, Teesdale and c.u.mberland, Here at the Breaken Tower end shall the fray."

Scowl'd the broad sun o'er the links of green Liddisdale, Red as the beacon-light tipp'd he the wold; Many a bold martial eye Mirror'd that morning sky, Never more oped on his...o...b..t of gold!

Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior shout, Lances and halberts in splinters were borne; Halberd and hauberk then Braved the claymore in vain, Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn.

See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere, Howard--ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!

Hear the wide welkin rend, While the Scots' shouts ascend, "Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!"

I HAE NAEBODY NOW.

I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now To meet me upon the green, Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow, An' joy in her deep blue e'en; Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile, An' the dance o' the lightsome fay, An' the wee bit tale o' news the while That had happen'd when I was away.

I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now To clasp to my bosom at even, O'er her calm sleep to breathe the vow, An' pray for a blessing from heaven.

An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome face In the morning, that met my eye, Where are they now, where are they now?

In the cauld, cauld grave they lie.

There 's naebody kens, there 's naebody kens, An' O may they never prove, That sharpest degree o' agony For the child o' their earthly love-- To see a flower in its vernal hour By slow degrees decay, Then, calmly aneath the hand o' death, Breathe its sweet soul away.

O, dinna break, my poor auld heart!

Nor at thy loss repine, For the unseen hand that threw the dart Was sent frae her Father and thine; Yet I maun mourn, an' I will mourn, Even till my latest day; For though my darling can never return, I can follow the sooner away.

THE MOON WAS A-WANING.

The moon was a-waning, The tempest was over; Fair was the maiden, And fond was the lover; But the snow was so deep, That his heart it grew weary, And he sunk down to sleep, In the moorland so dreary.

Soft was the bed She had made for her lover, White were the sheets And embroider'd the cover; But his sheets are more white, And his canopy grander, And sounder he sleeps Where the hill foxes wander.

Alas, pretty maiden, What sorrows attend you!

I see you sit shivering, With lights at your window; But long may you wait Ere your arms shall enclose him, For still, still he lies, With a wreath on his bosom!

How painful the task, The sad tidings to tell you!-- An orphan you were Ere this misery befell you; And far in yon wild, Where the dead-tapers hover, So cold, cold and wan Lies the corpse of your lover!

GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY.

The year is wearing to the wane, An' day is fading west awa', Loud raves the torrent an' the rain, And dark the cloud comes down the shaw; But let the tempest tout an' blaw Upon his loudest winter horn, Good night, and joy be wi' you a', We 'll maybe meet again the morn!

O, we hae wander'd far and wide O'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell, An' mony a simple flower we 've cull'd, An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell!

We 've ranged the dingle an' the dell, The hamlet an' the baron's ha', Now let us take a kind farewell,-- Good night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

Though I was wayward, you were kind, And sorrow'd when I went astray; For O, my strains were often wild, As winds upon a winter day.

If e'er I led you from the way, Forgie your Minstrel aince for a'; A tear fa's wi' his parting lay,-- Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!

JAMES MUIRHEAD, D.D.