If my sweet Wil- liam, if my sweet William

William, who high upon the yard

Rock'd with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.
So the sweet lark, high-pois'd in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,
And drops at once into her nest ;-
The noblest captain in the British fleet
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.
'O! Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear,-
We only part to meet again;

Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee! 'Believe not what the landsmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee sailors, when away,

THE POET'S

sai

lors,

tell

me

true,

In ev'ry port a mistress find ;-
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,
Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
Thy breath in Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin in ivory so white;-
Thus ev'ry beauteous object that I view
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue
'Though battle calls me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
William shall to his dear return ;-
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread,
No longer must she stay on board:

They kiss'd; she sighed; he hung his head. Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land ;'Adieu!' she cries, and wav'd her lily hand.

BLESSING.

The Words translated from the German of Uhland, and adapted, expressly for this work, to an
Moderato.
Air by Muller.

Answer'd me, his look severe,
'Poet's blessing boots not here;

Like the wrath of heaven it falls,

Flowers, not corn, to life it calls.'

Waken not too many flowers;

Just enough to deck the land,

And fill thy little grandson's hand.'

FLOW, THOU REGAL PURPLE STREAM.

The Words by John O'Keefe; the Music by Dr. Arnold.-Published by Davidson. Allegro.

Allegretto.

WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'.

The Poetry by Joanna Baillie.-The Music as sung by Mr. Wilson.

The bride she is win-some and bon-nie, Her hair it is snoo-ded sae sleek, And faith-ful and

kind is her John-nie, Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek. New pearl-ings the cause o' her

sor-row, New pearl-ings, and plen-ish - ing too;-The bride that has

a to borrow, Has

e'en right mei-kle a' do- Woo'd, and mar-ried, and a',

Woo'd and married and

na

she

very weel aff,

a'; And is
Her mother then hastily spak:
'The lassie is glaikit wi' pride:
In my pouches I had na a plack,
The day that I was a bride.
E'en tak to your wheel, and be clever,
And draw out your thread in the sun
The gear that is gifted. it never
Will last like the gear that is won.
Woo'd and married and a',

Tocher and havings sae sma';-
I think ye are very weel aff,
To be woo'd, and married, and a'.'

'Toot, toot!' quo' the gray-headed father,
'She's less of a bride than a bairn;
She's ta'en like a cowt frae the heather,
Wi' sense and discretion to learn.
Half husband, I trow, and half daddy,
As humour inconstantly leans;
A chield maun be patient and steady
That yokes wi' a mate in her teens.
Kerchief to cover so neat,

Locks the wind us'd to blaw;
I'm baith like to laugh and to greet,
When I think o' her married at a','

To

be woo'd, and mar-ried, and a'. Then out spak the wily bridegroom;

(Weel waled were his wordies, I ween), 'I am rich, though my coffers be toom, Wi' the blink o' your bonny blue een. I'm prouder o' thee by my side,

Tho' thy ruffles and ribbons be few,
Than if Kate o' the craft were my bride,
Wi' purfles and pearlings enew.
Dear, and dearest o' ony,

Ye're woo'd and booket and a';
And do ye think scorn o' your Johnnie,
And grieve to be married at a'?'

She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smil'd,
And she looket sae bashfully down;
The pride o' her heart was beguil'd,

And she play'd wi' the sleeve o' her gown;
She twirled the tag o' her lace,

And she nippet her boddice sae blue;
Syne blinket sae sweet in his face,
And aff like a maukin she flew.
Woo'd and married and a',
Married and carried awa';
She thinks hersel' very weel aff,
To be woo'd, and married, and a'.

www

WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'.

The Poetry by Mrs. Scott.-To the Music of above Tune.

THE grass had nae freedom o' growin'
As lang as she wasna awa;

Nor in the toun could there be stowin'
For wooers that wanted to ca'.
Sic boxin', sic brawlin', sic dancin',
Sic bowin' and shakin' a paw;

The toun was for ever in brulyies:
But now the lassie's awa.

Wooed, and married, and a',
Married, and wooed, and a';
The dandalie toast of the parish,

She's wooed, and she's carried awa.

But had he a' kenn'd her as I did,
His wooin' it wad hae been sma':
She kens neither bakin', nor brewin',
Nor cardin', nor spinnin' ava;
But a' her skill lies in her buskin':
And, O! if her braws were awa,
She sune wad wear out o' fashion,
And knit up her huggers wi' straw.
Wooed, and married, &c.
But yesterday I gaed to see her,
And, O! she was bonnie and braw;
She cried on her gudeman to gie her
An ell o' red ribbon or twa.

Sae lang's ye hae youdith and vigour,
And weanies and debt keep awa.
Wooed, and married, &c.

'Sae swift away hame to your haddin';
The mair fule ye e'er cam' awa:
Ye maunna be ilka day gaddin',

Nor gang sae white-finger'd and braw;
For now wi' a neebor ye're yokit,
And wi' him should cannilie draw;
Or else ye deserve to be knockit-
So that's an answer for a'.'

Wooed, and married, &c.
Young luckie thus fand hersel mither'd,
And wish'd she had ne'er come awa;
At length wi' hersel she consider'd,
That hameward 'twas better to draw,
And e'en tak a chance o' the landin',
However that matters might fa':
Folk maunna on freits aye be standin',
That's wooed, and married, and a'.
Wooed, and married, &c.

FLORA M'DONALD'S LAMENT.

The Words by Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd.-The Music by Neil Gow, Jun.

Andantino.

Far

over yon hills of the heath-er sae green, And down by the cor- rie that

sings to the sea, The bon-ny young Flo-ra sat sigh-ing her lane, The dew on her

plaid, and the tear in her ee. She look'd at a boat, with the breez-es that swung, A

gallant and young, Fare - weel to the lad I shall ne'er see a - gain.

The moor-cock that craws on the brow of Ben
Connel,

He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars on the cliffs of Clanronald,
Unawed and unhunted, his eyrie can claim ;
The solan can sleep on his shelve of the shore,
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea;
But, O! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,-
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he.
The conflict is past, and our name is no more;
There's naught left but sorrow for Scotland and

me.

The target is torn from the arms of the just,

The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave, The claymore for ever in darkness must rust;

But red is the sword of the stranger and slave.
The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud,
Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of
blue:

Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true?
Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good!
The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy
brow.

WE ALL LOVE A PRETTY GIRL UNDER THE ROSE.
The Poetry by Bickerstaff.-The Music by Dr. Arne.

Moderato.

Oons! neigh-bour, ne'er blush for a tri-fle like this! What harm with a fair one to

toy and to kiss? The great-est and grav-est, a truce with grim-ace, Would do the same

thing, would do the same thing, would do the same thing, were they in the same place. No

age or pro-fes-sion, no sta-tion is free,-To so-ve-reign beauty man - kind bends the

knee; That power, resist-less, no strength can op-pose,-We all love a pretty girl

un-der the rose, un-der the rose, un-der the rose; We all love a pret-ty girl un-der the rose.

PADDY SHANNON.

Moderato.

Pad-dy Shan-non, high mounted on his trot-ing little po-ny, Set off in a

gallop from Leather Lane to Bow, To o-gle wid-ow Wil-kins, whom he courted for her

mo-ney, And, tug-ging, at his bri-dle, cried, 'Whoa,my love,wnoa!' Beneath her bow

window Young Shannon took his sta-tion,-The night it was dark, so he whis-per'd, 'Yo!

ho!' Then he sweet-ly se- re-na-ded her, with 'Whack,now bo - de - ra-tion, Missis Wil-kins

won't you mar-ry me?' 'No,my love, no;''Mis-sis Wil-kins, won't you mar-ry me?' 'No, my love, no,'