The Banks o' Doon.

Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons through the flowering thorn : Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed-never to return !

Oft hae I roved by bonny Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o’ its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause luver stole my rose,

But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

Smiling Spring comes in rejoicing.

TUNE—“ The Bonny Bell."

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,

And surly Winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,

And bonny blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,

The evening gilds the ocean's swell; All creatures joy in the sun's returning,

And I rejoice in my bonny Bell.

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer,

And yellow Autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,

Till smiling Spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging,

I adore my bonny Bell.

Coming through the Rye.

TUNE-"Coming through the Rye."

Coming through the rye, poor body,

Coming through the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

O Jenny's a' wat, poor body,

Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the rye; Gin a body kiss a body

Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the glen;
Gin a body kiss a body--

Need the warld ken ?

Is there for honest Poverty.

TUNE-“ For a' that, and a' that.”

Is there for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea-stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that!

What though on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that!

Is there for ponest Poverty.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that!

A king can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,

Guid faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that;
The pith o sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may

As come it will for a' that-
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

It's comin' yet for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er.

Shall brothers be for a' that!