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Mr. Allan Cunningham added the following stanza in his collection of Scottish Songs—it is most likely his own composition—

I made my gallant fiddle
Of our repentance stool;
The lasses went wild wi' laughing,
And danc'd frae Paste to Yule-
The doucest foot o' the parish
Has wagg’d to it wantonlie ;
O monie's the mirthsome minute
My fiddle has made for me.

Hogg has also written a song carrying on the same sentiment.]

MONTGO MERY'S MISTRESS,
ALExANDER MONTGOMERY.

O nature lavished on my love
Each charm and winning grace-
It is a glad thing to sad eyes
To look upon her face:
She's sweeter than the sunny air
In which the lily springs;
While she looks through her clustering hair
That o'er her temples hings,
I’d stand and look on my true love
Like one grown to the ground;—
There’s none like her in loveliness,
Search all the world around.

Her looks are like the May-day dawn
When light comes on the streams;

Her eyes are like the star of love,
With bright and amorous beams.

She walks—the blushing brook-rose seems
Unworthy of her foot;
She sings—the lark that hearkens her
Will evermore be mute,
For from her eyes there streams such light,
And from her lips such sound;
There’s none like her in loveliness,
Search all the world around.

Her vestal breast of ivorie,
Aneath the snowy lawn,
Shows with its twin-born swelling wreaths,
Too pure to look upon;
While through her skin her sapphire veins
Seem violets dropt in milk,
And tremble with her honey breath
Like threads of finest silk;
Her arms are long, her shoulders broad,
Her middle small and round—
The mold was lost that made my love,
And never more was found.

[This is a very free and very beautiful modernization, if I may use such a word, of a song robed in the garb of antiquity, by Allan Cunningham. Specimens of Montgomery's own songs will be found in the Preface to this volume. See Laing's Edition of Montgomery's Poems, p. 208.]

MONTGOMERY'S MATCHLESS MARGARET,
ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY.

Ye lovers leal forbear to style
Your ladies fairest of the fair;
A purer light is come on earth,
And they maun hope to shine nae mair.
There is a gem without compare,
The brightest e'er in crowns was set,
A lady fair, and sweet as rare,
Montgomery's matchless Margaret.

Her better nature far excels
Her noble birth and royal blood;
Fairest where all are fair, and full
Of native gifts and graces good—
The wit and wale of womanhood,
Mair sweet than roses newly wet
With thrice distilled dews—I wooed,
But won not matchless Margaret.

O mind me, Fortune, when you rain
Your idle crowns and sceptres down;
O Love, make me seem in her sight
The noblest that’s beneath the sun :
O lang I’ve loved but never won,
And wander'd till my locks were wet
In midnight dew-drops, musing on
My loved, my matchless Margaret.

[A modernized version by Allan Cunningham. For the original words see Laing's Edition of Montgomery's Poems, p. 161.]

WHILE WITH HER WHITE AND NIMBLE HANDS. ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY.

While with her white and nimble hands
My mistress gathering blossoms stands,
Amid the flowery mead;—
Of lilies white, and violets,
A garland properly she plaits
To set upon her head :

Thou sun, now shining bright above,
If ever thou the fire of love
Hast felt, as poets feign:
lf it be true, as true it seems,
In courtesy withdraw thy beams
Lest thou her colour stain.

If thou her fairness will not burn
She’ll quit thee with a kinder turn,
And close her sparkling eyes;–
A brightness far surpassing thine,
Lest thou thereby ashamed should tyne
Thy credit in the skies.

[Modernized by Allan Cunningham.]

ARMSTRONG’S GOOD NIGHT.

This night is my departing night,
For here nae langer must I stay;

There’s neither friend nor foe o’ mine,
But wishes me away.

What I have done thro’ lack of wit,
I never, never can recall;

I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;
Goodnight, and joy be with you all.

[“These verses are said to have been composed by one of the Armstrongs, executed for the murder of Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, Warden of the Middle Marches.”—Scott.

“The music of the most accomplished singer is dissonance to what I felt when an old dairy-maid sung me into tears with Johnie Armstrong's Last Goodnight.”—Golds M1TH.

The above is printed from Sir Walter Scott's copy—there are many variations in lines and many fabrications of verses in different Ballad

Books totally unworthy of being here inserted.]

I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.

JAMES GRAHAME, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

Born 1612–Hanged 1650.

My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee

Be govern'd by no other sway,
But purest monarchy;

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