Through rocks and sands to distant lands

The sailor wanders wide,

In hopes to shield his crazy eild

By couthy fireside.

The couthy fireside, my friends,

The couthy fireside ;

Heaven send the lyart pow o' age

A couthy fireside.

'Tis Heaven that nerves the soldier's arm

The battle's heat to bide;

He boldly dares the fiercest foe

To shield his fireside.

His ain fireside, my friends,

His country's fireside;

Would ye but warm a coward's heart,

Insult his fireside.

Gi'e luxury her painted domes,
Her palaces gi'e pride;

But be my lot a snug warm cot

And canty fireside.

A canty fireside, my friends,
A canty fireside;

Be aye my lot a snug warm cot
And canty fireside.

When bairnies brattlin round our knees
On chairs and stoolies ride,

What joy heaves up a parent's heart

To see his fireside!

To see his fireside, my friends,

His ain fireside;

May Heaven protect the rising sprouts
Around his fireside.

Misfortune dour, wi' cauldrife stour,

A neighbour may betide; "Twill edge a bit and lit him sit

Just next the fireside.

Our ain fireside, my friends,

Our ain fireside;

May ne'er a cauld nor hungry heart
Gae by your fireside.

And, oh, may He whose powerful arm
The steps o' mortals guides,

Wi' health and wealth and length o' days
Bless a' our firesides!

Our ain firesides, my friends,

Our ain firesides;

It is sae sweetly scented,

It seems a maiden's breath;
Aboon the sun has wither'd it,
But there is green beneath;-
But there is caller green beneath,
Come, lasses, foot away!

The heart is dowie can be cauld
At making o' the hay!

Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by,
Mak' rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,-
We maun hae done at e'en ;-
We maun hae done at gloaming e'en;
And when the clouds grow grey,

Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass
Amang the new-made hay!

THE BONNIE ROWAN BUSH.

ROBERT NICOLL.

THE bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen,
Where the burnie clear doth gush

In yon lane glen ;

My head is white and auld,

An' my bluid is thin an' cauld;

But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.

My Jeanie first I met

In yon lane glen,

When the grass wi' dew was wet
In yon lane glen;

The moon was shinin' sweet,

An' our hearts wi' love did beat,
By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.

Oh, she promised to be mine
In yon lane glen!

Her heart she did resign
In yon lane glen :
An' monie a happy day

Did o'er us pass away

Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.

Sax bonnie bairns had we

In yon lane glen,

Lads an' lasses young an' spree
In yon lane glen;

An' a blither family

Than ours there cou'dna be,

Beside the bonnie rowan bush
In yon lane glen.

Now my auld wife's gane awa'
Frae yon lane glen;

An' though simmer sweet doth fa'

In yon lane glen,

To me its beauty's gane,

For, alake, I sit alane

Beside the bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen!

Air-"The Highland or 42nd regiment's march," composed by GENERAL REID.

IN the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia we come,
Where the Romans endeavour'd our country to gain;
But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain.
Such is our love of liberty, our country, and our laws,
That, like our ancestors of old, we'll stand in freedom's cause:
We'll bravely fight, like heroes bold, for honour and applause,
And defy the French, with all their arts, to alter our laws.