THE BANKS OF ALLAN WATER.

M. G. Lewis.

On the banks of Allan water,

When the sweet spring time did fall, Was the miller's lovely daughter, Fairest of them all.

For his bride a soldier sought her,
And a winning tongue had he;
On the banks of Allan Water
None so gay as she.

On the banks of Allan Water,

When brown autumn spreads its store
There I saw the miller's daughter,
But she smiled no more:

For the summer grief had brought her,
And the soldier, false was he;
On the banks of Allan Water
None was sad as she.

On the banks of Allan Water
When the winter snow fell fast,
Still was seen the miller's daughter,
Chilling blew the blast.

But the miller's lovely daughter

Both from cold and care was free;

On the banks of Allan water

There a corse lay she,

THE BANKS OF LOCH LOMOND.

Old Scottish Song.

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomon',
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomon'.
Oh! ye'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the
low road,

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye;

But me and my true love will never meet

again,

On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch
Lomon'.

'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen,
On the steep, steep side o' Ben Lomon',
Where in purple hue the Hieland hills we view,
And the moon coming out in the gloamin'.
Oh! ye'll tak' the high road, &c.

The wee birdies sing and the wild flowers spring,
And in sunshine the waters are sleeping;
But the broken heart it kens nae second spring
again,

Though the waeful may cease frae their greeting,
Oh! ye'll tak' the high road, &c.

THE BAY OF BISCAY.

Loud roared the dreadful thunder,
The rain a deluge showers,
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers;
The night was drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark-

Till next day-there she lay
In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Now dashed upon the billow
Her opening timbers creak;
Each fears a watery pillow;
None stop the dreadful leak;
To cling to slippery shrouds
Each breathless seaman crowds-
As she lay all the day, &c.

At length the wish'd for morrow
Broke through the hazy sky;
Absorbed in silent sorrow,
Each heaved a bitter sigh.
The dismal wreck to view
Struck horror in the crew-

As she lay all the day, &c.

The yielding timbers sever,
The pitchy seams are rent,
When heaven, all bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent;
A sail in sight appears;

We hail her with three cheers-
Now we sail-with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay, O!

THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND.

"O! where, and O! where is your Highland laddie gone?

()! where, and O! where is your Highland laddie gone?"

"He's gone to fight the French, for King George upon the throne;

And it's O! in my heart, I wish him safe at home. He's gone to fight," &c.

"O! where, and O! where did your Highland laddie dwell?

O! where, and O! where did your Highland laddie dwell? "

He dwelt in merry Scotland, at the sign of the
Blue Bell;

And it's O! in my heart, I love my laddie well.
He dwelt in merry Scotland," &c.

"In what clothes, in what clothes is your Highland laddie clad?

In what clothes, in what clothes is your Highland laddie clad?"

His bonnet's of the Saxon green, his waistcoat's of the plaid;

And it's O! in my heart, I love my Highland lad. His bonnet's of the Saxon," &c.

Suppose, and suppose that your Highland lad should die !

Suppose, and suppose that your Highland lad should die!"

"The bagpipes should play o'er him-I'd sit me down and cry;

And it's in my heart, I wish he may not die. The bagpipes should play," &c.

BONNY DUNDEE.

Sir W. Scott.

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke, "Ere the king's crown shall fall, there are crowns to be broke;

"So let each cavalier who loves honour and me, "Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

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Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ; "Unhook the West Port, and let me gang free, "For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee." Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are

beat;

But the Provost, douce man, said,

"him be,

'Just e'en let "The gude town is weel quit of that Deil of "Dundee."

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"Come fill up my cup," &c.

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth;

"If there's lords in the lowlands, there's chiefs in "the North;

"There are wild Duinewassels, three thousand times

"Will cry 'Hoigh!' for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. "Come fill up my cup," &c.

"

Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks;

Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; "And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your

"glee,

"You have nae seen the last of my bonnet and me, "Come fill up my cup," &c.