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THE SOCIAL CUP.

CHARLES GRAY.

The gloamin saw us a' sit down,

And mickle mirth has been our fa'
But ca' the other toast aroun',
Till chanticleer begins to craw.
Blythe, blythe, and merry are we,

Blythe are we, ane and a';
Aften hae we canty been,

But sic a nicht we never saw.

The auld kirk bell has chappit twal ;

Wha cares though she had chappit twa! We're licht o’ heart, and winna part,

Though time and tide should rin awa.

Tut! never speir how wears the morn,

The moon's still blinkin' i' the sky; And, gif like her we fill our horn,

I dinna doubt we'll drink it dry.

Then fill us up a social cup,

And never mind the dapple dawn; Just sit a while, the sun may smile,

And light us a' across the lawn.

A E HAPPY HOUR.

ALEXANDER LAING.

The dark gray o'gloamin,

The lone leafy shaw, The coo o' the cushat,

The scent o' the haw, The brae o' the burnie,

A’ blumin in flower, And twa faithfu' lovers,

Mak ae happy hour.

A kind winsome wifie,

A clean cantie hame, And smiling sweet babies,

To lisp the dear name; Wi' plenty o' labour,

And health to endure, Make time to row round ay

The ae happy hour.

Ye lost to affection,

Whom avarice can move To woo and to marry

For a' thing but love; Awa' wi' your sorrows,

Awa' wi' your store, Ye ken na the pleasure

O' ae happy hour.

THE GREEN BOWERS OF BARGENY.

HEW AINSLIE.

I left ye, Jeanie, blooming fair

'Mang the bourocks of Bargeny ; I've found ye on the banks of Ayr,

And sair ye're alter'd Jeanie :
I left ye 'mang the woods sae green,

In rustic weed befitting;
I've found ye buskit like a queen,

In painted chambers sitting.

I left

ye

like a wanton lainb That plays 'mang Haydart heather ; I've found ye now a sober dame,

A wife, and eke a mither. Ye're fairer, statelier, I can see;

Ye're wiser, nae doubt, Jeanie ;But oh! I'd rather met wi' thee

'Mang the green bowers of Bargeny.

HE IS GONE, HE IS GONE!

I
WILLAM MOTHERWELL.

He is gone! he is gone!

Like the leaf from the tree; Or the down that is blown

By the wind o'er the lea.

He is filed, the light-hearted !
Yet a tear must have started
To his eye, when he parted

From love-stricken me!

He is filed! he is filed!

Like a gallant so free, Plumed cap on his head,

And sharp sword by his knee ; While his gay feathers fluttered, Surely something he muttered, He at least must have uttered

A farewell to me!

He's away! he's away,

To far lands o'er the seaAnd long is the day

Ere home he can be; But where'er his steed prances, Amid thronging lances, Sure he'll think of the glances

That love stole from me!

He is gone! he is gone!

Like the leaf from the tree; But his heart is of stone

If it ne'er dream of me! For I dream of him ever, His buff-coat and beaver, And long sword, oh, never

Are absent from me!

O POVERTY.

ALEXANDER HUME.

liza was a bonnie lass, an' 0, she lo'ed me weel,Sic love as canna find a tongue, but only hearts can

feel;

But I was poor, her Faither dour, he wadna look on me, O poverty ! O poverty! that Love should bow to thee!

I went unto her Mither : an' I argued, an' I feeched,
I spak o' love an honesty, an'mair an' mair be-

seeched, But she was deaf to a' my grief, she wadna look on me, O poverty! O poverty! that Love should bow to thee!

I neist went to her brother, an I tauld him o' my pain, O he was wae! he tried to say, but it was a' in vain ; Though he was weel in love himsel', nae feeling he'd

for me,

O poverty! O poverty! that Love should bow to thee!

O wealth it makes the fool a sage, the kpave an honest

man, An' canker'd grey locks young again, gin he hae gear

an'lan',

To age maun beauty ope her arms, though wi' a tearfu’ee, O poverty ! O poverty! that Love should bow to thee!

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