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HERE'S A HEALTH TO AULD SCOTIA.
HERE's a health to auld Scotia, and dear Robie Burns,
Auld Scotia! auld Scotia ! how oft thy bright blades
Then hail Caledonia ! the home of brave men,
HOME IN THE WEST.
They may sing of the lands o'er the desert of brine,
Where the earth in its age has grown grey,
And the old castles fall to decay.
On the blue mountain's cloud-mantled crest,
sweep Through the shades of the woods of the West.
There the Spring's reddest flowers are soonest to blush,
And the Summer grows crimson with fruit, And in Fall's purple bowers the sweet-throated thrush
Sings the day breeze to sleep with his lute.
There dark are the forests, and bright are the streams,
And the stranger is welcome as guest, Where the love-lighted eye of each young maiden
beams, From her green-bowered home in the West !
Oh! roam where you may from the Line to the Pole,
Thou shalt feel this wherever thou art: 'Tis the West where the sunshine falls in on the soul,
And illumines the depths of the heart !
Whose touch thrills at once through the breast,
And your heart finds its home in the West !
There my friends have my faith, and the maid has my
And my lips still deny it farewell !
And silent the throb of this breast,
Let me sleep my last sleep in the West !
M AR Y L Y L E.
A BALLA D.
'Twas when the brooks of Spring were blue,
And Western woods were green, My eyes first saw, my soul first knew
And owned my bosom's queen; The violet was in her eye,
The sunshine in her smile, And I was happy roving by
The side of Mary Lyle.
And when the silver sickles rung
Among the golden wheat,
Her voice was low and sweet;
All charmed were they the while-
Of bonnie Mary Lyle.