And ever in the van of fight, Like a good old Scottish cavalier, All of the olden time. Oh! never shall we know again The fair white rose has faded From the garden where it grew, And no fond tears, save those of heaven, Of the last old Scottish cavalier, All of the olden time. AYTOUN. The Sailor's Consolation. ONE night came on a hurricane, The sea was mountains rolling, Lord help 'em how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore now. "Fool-hardy chaps as live in towns, And now lie quaking in their beds, For our good luck in such a storm, "And as for them that's out all day, My eyes! what tiles and chimney-pots "Both you and I have oftimes heard How men are kill'd and undone, By overturns from carriages, By thieves, and fires in London. We know what risks these landsmen run, From noblemen to tailors; Then, Bill, let us thank Providence That you and I are sailors." 209 The Lass of Preston-mill. THE lark had left the evening cloud, The stars were blinking o'er the hill, Her naked feet amang the grass Her brow beam'd white aneath her locks Quoth I, "Fair lass, wilt thou gang wi' me, I have look'd long for a weel-faur'd lass, P I said, "Sweet maiden, look not down, But gie's a kiss, and come with me;' A lovelier face O ne'er look'd up,— The tears were dropping from her e'e. "I hae a lad who's far awa, That well could win a woman's will; My heart's already full of love," Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill. "Now who is he could leave sic a lass, Quoth the lovely lass of Preston-mill. She streek'd to heaven her twa white hands, And lifted up her watery e'e "Sae lang 's my heart kens aught o' God, Or light is gladsome to my e'e; While woods grow green, and burns run clear, My heart shall haud nae other love,” There's comely maids on Dee's wild banks, O! they are lights of a bonnie kind, But there's ae light puts them all out,― CUNNINGHAM. The Frost. THE Frost look'd forth, one still clear night, I will not go on like that blustering train, Then he flew to the mountain, and powder'd its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dress'd Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear He went to the windows of those who slept, By the light of the moon were seen |