Chapter I: Canna Leave My Native Land (1)

I canna leave my native land,
I canna sail the sea;
The trees around my cottage stand,
The gowans deck the lea;
The primrose blooms beside the burn,
The wild flower on the brae;
To leave them a' my heart wad mourn,
I canna gang away.

The dew-draps gem the clover leaves,
The laverock sings aboon,
The blae-berry bush wi' spring revives,
And it will blossom soon;
I canna leave the bonnie brae
Where waves the new-sprung fern,
Where oft I 've pass'd the summer's day,
And look'd upon the burn.

I canna leave the green-croft well,
Its waters cool and clear,
For oft its pleasant murmurs dwell
Like music in mine ear;
The elder bush, the garden bower,
Where robin sings sae sweet,
The auld gray dike, the bee-house tower,
The cosie garden seat.

HORATIUS BONAR, D.D.

One of the most esteemed of living Scottish theological writers, Horatius Bonar, is likewise favourably known as a sacred lyric poet. He is a native of Edinburgh, where his father, the late James Bonar, Esq., a man of eminent piety and accomplished scholarship, held the office of a Solicitor of Excise. His ancestors for several successive generations were ministers of the Church of Scotland. He was educated at the High School and the University of his native city. After engaging for some time in missionary labour at Leith, he was ordained to the ministry at Kelso in November 1837, and has since prosecuted his pastoral duties in that place. His first literary efforts appeared in the shape of religious tracts, now published in a volume under the title of "The Kelso Tracts." He next published the work by which he has become most widely known, "The Night of Weeping," which was followed by other two works of the same series, "The Morning of Joy," and "The Eternal Day." Of his subsequent publications, the more conspicuous are, "Prophetical Landmarks," "The Coming and the Kingdom of the Lord Jesus," "A Stranger Here," "Man; his Religion and his World," "The Story of Grace," "The Blood of the Cross," and "The Desert of Sinai, or Notes of a Tour from Cairo to Beersheba." Dr Bonar was for many years editor of the _Presbyterian Review_; he now edits _The Quarterly Journal of Prophecy_. The following spiritual songs, well adapted for music, are from his volume entitled "Hymns of Faith and Hope."

THE MEETING PLACE.

Where the faded flower shall freshen,
Freshen never more to fade;
Where the shaded sky shall brighten,
Brighten never more to shade:
Where the sun-blaze never scorches,
Where the star-beams cease to chill;
Where no tempest stirs the echoes
Of the wood, or wave, or hill:
Where the morn shall wake in gladness,
And the noon the joy prolong,
Where the daylight dies in fragrance,
'Mid the burst of holy song:
Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where no shadow shall bewilder,
Where life's vain parade is o'er,
Where the sleep of sin is broken,
And the dreamer dreams no more;
Where the bond is never sever'd,
Partings, claspings, sob and moan,
Midnight waking, twilight weeping,
Heavy noontide, all are done:
Where the child has found its mother,
Where the mother finds the child,
Where dear families are gather'd
That were scatter'd on the wild:
Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where the hidden wound is healed,
Where the blighted life re-blooms,
Where the smitten heart the freshness
Of its buoyant youth resumes;
Where the love that here we lavish
On the withering leaves of time,
Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on
In an ever spring-bright clime:
Where we find the joy of loving,
As we never loved before,
Loving on, unchill'd, unhinder'd,
Loving once and evermore:
Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where a blasted world shall brighten
Underneath a bluer sphere,
And a softer, gentler sunshine,
Shed its healing splendour here;
Where earth's barren vales shall blossom,
Putting on their robe of green,
And a purer, fairer Eden,
Be where only wastes have been:
Where a king in kingly glory,
Such as earth has never known,
Shall assume the righteous sceptre,
Claim and wear the holy crown:
Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

TRUST NOT THESE SEAS AGAIN.

Trust not these seas again,
Though smooth and fair;
Trust not these waves again,
Shipwreck is there.

Trust not these stars again,
Though bright and fair;
Trust not these skies again,
Tempest is there.

Trust not that breeze again,
Gentle and fair;
Trust not these clouds again,
Lightning is there.

Trust not that isle again,
Flower-crown'd and fair;
Trust not its rocks again,
Earthquake is there.

Trust not these flowers again,
Fragrant and fair;
Trust not that rose again,
Blighting is there.

Trust not that earth again,
Verdant and fair;
Trust not its fields again,
Winter is there.

Trust not these hopes again,
Sunny and fair;
Trust not that smile again,
Peril is there.

Trust not this world again,
Smiling and fair;
Trust not its sweets again,
Wormwood is there;

Trust not its love again,
Sparkling and fair;
Trust not its joy again,
Sorrow is there.

JOHN HALLIDAY.

A song-writer of merit, John Halliday was born on the 18th July 1821, at Hawickshielsgate, near Hawick, Roxburghshire. His father was an agricultural labourer; and, with an ordinary education at school, he was, at an early age, engaged as an assistant shepherd to a tenant farmer in his native district. Inheriting from his mother a taste for the elder Scottish ballad, he devoted his leisure hours to reading such scraps of songs as he could manage to procure. In his thirteenth year he essayed to compose verses, and at the age of twenty became a contributor of poetical stanzas to the provincial journals. Encouraged by a numerous list of subscribers, he published, in 1847, "The Rustic Bard," a duodecimo volume of poems and songs. After being several years resident at Hopekirk, Roxburghshire, he removed in 1854 to Bridge of Allan, where he is well employed as a florist and landscape gardener.

THE AULD KIRK BELL.

In a howm, by a burn, where the brown birks grow,
And the green ferns nod when the wild winds blow,
Stands the roofless kirk in the auld kirkyard,
Where the gowans earliest gem the swaird;
And the gray, gray moss on ilk cauld through stane
Shrouds in oblivion the lang, lang gane--
Where the ance warm heart is a cauld, cauld clod,
And the beauteous and brave give a green to the sod--
On a time-worn tower, where the dim owls dwell,
Tuneless and torn, hangs the auld kirk bell.

On the auld kirk floor is the damp night dew,
Where warm words flow'd in a worship true;
Is the sugh o' the breeze, and the hum o' the bee
As it wings and sings in its taintless glee
Through the nettles tall to the thistles red,
Where they roughly wave o'er each deep, dark bed;
And it plies its task on the wa'-flowers tall,
Which bloom in the choir and wave on the wall;
Then, soaring away with a sweep and a swell,
It covers its combs in the auld kirk bell.

By the crumbling base of the auld kirk tower
Is the broad-leaved dock and the bright brae flower;
And the adders hiss o'er the lime-bound stones,
And playfully writhe round mouldering bones:
The bat clingeth close to the binewood's root,
Where its gnarled boughs up the belfry shoot,
As, hiding the handworks of ruthless time,
It garlands in grandeur and green sublime
The hoary height, where the rust sae fell
Bends, as with a burden, the auld kirk bell.

Oh, red is the rust, and a ruin is come
To the auld kirk bell--ance and ever it 's dumb;
On the brink of the past 'tis awaiting a doom,
For a wauf o' the wind may awaken its tomb,
As, bearing its fragments, all dust-like, away,
To blend with water, the wood and the clay,
Till lost 'mid the changes of manners and men;
Then ne'er ane will think, nor ere ane will ken,
That a joyfu' jowl and a waefu' knell,
As it swung, had been rung by the auld kirk bell.

THE AULD AIK-TREE.

Oh, we hae been amang the bowers that winter didna bare,
And we hae daunder'd in the howes where flowers were ever fair,
And lain aneath as lofty trees as eye did ever see,
Yet ne'er could lo'e them as we lo'e the auld aik-tree.

It 's no because its boughs are busk'd in any byous green,
For simmer sairs it little now--it's no what it has been,
Sin' ilka wauf o' win' that blaws dings dauds o't on the lea,
And bairnies bear their burdens frae the auld aik-tree.

It 's no because the gowans bright grow bonnie by its ruit,
For we hae seen them blum as braw in mony a ither bit;
Nor yet because the mavis sings his mellow morning glee
Sae sweetly frae the branches o' the auld aik-tree.

But there 's a kindly feeling found and foster'd in the heart,
Which bears the thought a backward stream to lifetime's early part,
And ties us to ilk morning scene o' love and laughing glee
We 've seen, and kenn'd, and join'd aneath the auld aik-tree.

For we hae play'd aneath its shade a chuffie-cheekit bairn,
Unkennin' o', uncarin' for, cauld care or crosses stern,
And ran around it at the ba' when we frae schule wan free;
Then wha daur say we sudna lo'e the auld aik-tree?

We 've speel'd upon its foggie stem and dern'd amang its green,
To catch the pyet in her nest amidst the grays o' e'en;
And watch'd the gooldie bringin' doon to big her hame sae wee
Atween the cosie forkings o' the auld aik-tree.

And we hae tint and ta'en a heart when gloamin's shadows threw
Out o'er the glen her misty gray in kindly drippin' dew,
And felt the tear o' anguish fa' in torrents frae our e'e,
When pairting frae that loved ane 'neath the auld aik-tree.

Our hame we left wi' hopefu' heart and mony a warm fareweel,
And gowd and gear we gain'd awa; but oh, the freen's sae leal!
Where are they? where my childhood's hearth
--those hearts sae kind and free,--
When a' is unco groun save the auld aik-tree?

JAMES DODDS.

A man of elegant and varied accomplishments, and one of the most eloquent public-speakers of the age, James Dodds was born in 1815, in the county of Roxburgh. He was at first intended by some influential friends for the Church, and proceeded through part of the College curriculum, but some changes occurring, he ultimately devoted himself to the study of law. Probably his ambition was for the Bar; but overruling circumstances led him, about twelve years ago, to enter on the profession of parliamentary solicitor in London, in which he has met with much success.

From his youth a devoted student, he has, amidst the exigencies of business, sedulously kept up his literary pursuits. He has produced no independent work, but has largely contributed, both in prose and verse, to the periodicals. Among these contributions, a series of poems, chiefly ballads on incidents connected with the times of the Covenant, which appeared in several of the Edinburgh magazines, about thirteen years since, attracted much attention. One of these lays we have transferred to the present work. Mr Dodds has lately prepared a series of lectures on the fifty years' struggle of the Covenanters, which will probably be presented to the public. He has evinced a deep interest in the cause of raising a national monument to Sir William Wallace, and has, under the auspices of the Central Committee, addressed public meetings on the subject in many of the principal towns.

TRIAL AND DEATH OF ROBERT BAILLIE OF JERVIESWOODE.

'Twas when December's dark'ning scowl the face of heaven o'ercast,
And vile men high in place were more unpitying than the blast,
Before their grim tribunal's front, firm and undaunted stood
That patriot chief of high renown, the noble Jervieswoode.

The hand of death is on him press'd--the seal of death is there!
Oh, the savage of the wilderness those weak old limbs would spare!
Frail, frail his step, and bent his frame, and ye may plainly trace
The shadow of death's wing upon his pale and sunken face.
These twenty long and dreary months in the dungeon he hath lain,
Long days of sickness, weary nights of languishing and pain;
For whom no gale hath breathed its balm, no sun hath bless'd the year,
No friendly hand to smooth his couch, nor friendly voice to cheer;
His lady in their lonely hall doth mournful vigils keep,
And where he sat and where he walk'd his children watch and weep.

Yet o'er his weakness and decay an ancient grandeur falls,
Like the majesty that lingers round some mould'ring palace walls;
The light of calm and noble thoughts is bright within his eye,
And, purged of earthly taint, his soul prepares to mount on high.
Nor is he left alone--a sister faithful to him clung
With woman's heart, with home-born love, with angel look and tongue;
There in that Golgotha she sits, so tender, so benign--
Fair as the moon's sweet glimpses through the cloudy tempest shine.

The court is met, the assize are set: the robes of state look brave,
Yet the proudest and the lordliest there is but a tyrant's slave--
Blood-hirelings they who earn their pay by foul and treach'rous deeds--
For swift and fell the hound must be whom the hunter richly feeds.
What though no act of wrong e'er stain'd the fame of Jervieswoode,
Shall it protect him in those times that he is wise and good?
So wise--so good--so loved of all, though weak and worn with care,
Though death comes fast he is the last whom Antichrist would spare!
For his the bold and freeborn mind, the wisdom of a sage,
The glow of youth still cherish'd in the sober breast of age;
The soul of chivalry is his, and honour pure from stain--
A heart that beats for liberty, and spurns each galling chain,
Whether entwined by hands that bear the crozier or the sword;
For he would see all nations free in Christ who is their Lord.

And once, with England's patriot band, by tyrant power oppress'd,
He had dream'd of free and happy homes in the forests of the west--
To breathe the uncorrupted air, to tread the fresh green sod,
And where the broad Savannah rolls in peace to worship God!
These are his crimes! the treason this for which he now is tried;
But though the forms of law are kept all justice is denied.
Woe! that a land so favour'd once should witness such disgrace!
Shame! that a land so powerful yet should brook a scene so base!

Unroll your parchments black with lies--shut fast your coward doors--
And brand the aged chief with crimes his generous heart abhors:
When truth avails not, well you know how to supply the lack
With secret tales and with wild words extorted by the rack!
There is an hour for every power--an hour of darkness this!
Spur on, ye slaves of Antichrist! or ye the goal may miss!

His strength, increasing with his need, he raises bold and high,
And fixes on Mackenzie[15] a clear and searching eye:
"How canst thou thus, my lord, 'gainst me such accusations bring,
That I have been a man of strife in plots against the king?
I hate the way of violence--the anarchist I spurn;
Who scatters firebrands little knows where they may fall and burn.
In my degree I have been bold to guard the nation's right,
And keep alive within these realms the lamp of Gospel light:
But in my gloomy dungeon laid, didst thou not visit me,
And solemnly avow that I from wicked plots was free?
How canst thou, then, unto my charge such grievous actions lay,
And all thou hast so solemn said as solemnly unsay?"

The whole assembled multitude full on Mackenzie turn'd,
That even his harden'd countenance with shame and anger burn'd:
"True, Jervieswoode, I told thee so, as my own private view--
Here I discharge the functions which to the crown are due."
"If thou hast a conscience for thyself, and another for this place,
I leave thee to the God of heaven and His all pardoning grace!
My lords, I add no more--proceed--right well I know my doom:
Death hath no terrors for my soul--the grave it hath no gloom!"

'Tis one from old Saint Giles! The blasts of midnight shake the hall,
Hoarse sounding like a demon's voice, which the stoutest hearts appal!
His doom is utter'd!--"Twelve hours hence thy traitorous head shall fall,
And for a terror be exposed upon the city wall;
Thy limbs shall quarter'd be, and hung, all mutilate and bare,
At Jedburgh, and Lanark town, at Glasgow, and at Ayr;
That all good subjects thence may learn obedience to the State,
Their duty to our gracious king, and bloody treason's fate."
A horror seizes every breast--a stifled cry of dread:
"Who sheds the blood of innocence, the blood on his own head!"
That pack'd and perjured jury shrink in conscience-struck dismay,
And wish their hands as clear of guilt as they were yesterday.
Mackenzie's cold and flinty face is quivering like a leaf,
Whilst with quick and throbbing finger he turns o'er and o'er his brief;
And the misnamed judges vainly try their rankling thoughts to hide
Beneath an outward painted mask of loftiness and pride.
Even she, the sweet heroic one! aye watchful at his side,
Whose courage ne'er hath blanch'd as yet, though sorely, sharply tried--
Even she is crush'd beneath the weight of this last and deadly blow,
And sinks upon her brother's neck, o'erwhelm'd in speechless woe.

He, he alone, is calm of soul! Powers of no mortal birth
Are gently loosening every tie that links him to the earth;
And inward faith gives outward force--strong is his deep dark eye--
And his brow and lip are beautiful as in the days gone by.
Meekly he rises to depart, but pauses for a space,
And looks upon his cowering foes with calm and saintly grace:
"The time is short, the sentence sharp--your malice I forgive;
For God hath made me fit to die, as ye, my lords, to live!"

And meekly he departs! his toils, his work, and warfare done--
And his martyr chariot waits him, and his triumphs are begun!

And twelve hours thence, upon the block, his reverend head did fall,
And for a terror was exposed upon the city wall;
His limbs were quarter'd, and were hung, all mutilate and bare,
At Jedburgh, and Lanark town, at Glasgow, and at Ayr:
And thus through all broad Scotland these martyr'd relics go,
Like a fiery cross to rouse the land to the tyrant's overthrow!

The ancient halls of Jervieswoode are desolate and gray,
And its ancient oaks and lime trees are sinking in decay;
These are of things that perish, and their place soon knows them not,
But a glory from the past illumes this consecrated spot.
To him who braves the martyr's death is deathless honour given,
For the faith that breeds heroic deeds is dear to earth and heaven;
And through all succeeding ages, amongst the wise and good,
Enshrined shall be the memory of the noble Jervieswoode.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] Sir George Mackenzie of Rosehaugh, the King's Advocate.

METRICAL TRANSLATIONS

FROM

The Modern Gaelic Minstrelsy.

DUNCAN MACFARLAN.

Duncan Macfarlan was a native of Rannoch, in Perthshire. He was born in 1750, and became, early in life, chaplain to one of the Highland regiments. He was subsequently admitted to the pastoral charge of the Gaelic Church, Perth. He executed some of the translations of Ossianic remains published by H. & J. M'Callum in 1816, under the auspices of the Highland Society of London. He died about the year 1834. Our translator remembers him as a venerable old gentleman, of polished manners and intelligent conversation. The following specimen of his poetical compositions is, in the original, extremely popular among the Gael.

THE BEAUTY OF THE SHIELING.

My beauty of the shieling,
Thy graceful air, like arrow-shaft,
A fiery flame concealing,
Has left me to the marrow chaf'd.
So winsome is thy smiling,
Thy love-craft so beguiling,
It binds me like the wilding,
And I yield, in dule and sorrow left.

Thy brown locks rank'd in order,
So spiral, rich, and clustering!
Thy face, of flowers a border,
'Neath feather'd eyebrows mustering!
Two drops of dewy splendour
Those lids of beauty under!
And that kiss--a fragrant wonder,
As fruits of India Western!

JOHN MUNRO.

John Munro was born in 1791, in the parish of Criech, Sutherlandshire. His father was superintendent of a manufacturing establishment. On the premature death of her husband, his mother proceeded to Glasgow, where the family were enabled to obtain a suitable education. In 1827, the poet commenced business as an accountant. The hours of relaxation from business he sedulously devoted to the concerns of literature, especially poetry. He produced some religious tracts, and composed verses, chiefly of a devotional character. He died in 1837, and his remains were consigned to the Necropolis of the city. Admiring friends reared an appropriate monument over his grave.

THE HIGHLAND WELCOME.

"My dearest, wilt thou follow,
And mount with me the billow?
Wilt thou with me pass o'er the sea
To the land of hill and hollow?"

"No, Highlandman! I leave not
My kindred for another,
Nor go with thee across the sea
From the children of my mother.

"No, Highlandman! I will not fly
My own beloved border;
For poortith dwells and famine pales
In your Highlands of disorder.

"I will not wed a Gael--
His house is but a shieling;
Oh, best unborn, than all forlorn
Mid your crags to have my dwelling!"

"The house I call mine own house,
A better was not born in;
And land and sea will smile on thee,
In the Highlands of thy scorning.

"I do not boast the wheaten wealth
Of our glens and hills, my dearie!
But enow is health, and grass is wealth,
In the land of mead and dairy.

"I 've store of kine, my darling,
Nor any lilting sweeter
Thine ear can know, than is their low,
And the music of the bleater.

"I have no ship on ocean
With merchant treasure sailing;
But my tight boat, and trusty net,
Whole loads of fish are trailing.

"And, for dress, is none, my beauty,
Than the tartan plaiding warmer,
For its colours bright, oh, what delight
To see them deck my charmer!

"And ne'er was Highland welcome
More hearty than thy greeting,
Each day, the rein, and courteous swain,
Thy pleasure will be meeting.

"And thou shalt wear the healthy hue
That give the Highland breezes,
And not a bird but will be heard
To sing the song that pleases.

"No summer morn is blyther,
With all its burst of glory,
Than the heaving breast, that, uncaress'd,
Pined--shall, caress'd, adore thee."

"Stay, Highlander! my heart, my hand,
My vow and all I render,
A Highland lay has won the day,
And I will hie me yonder."

JOHN MACDONALD, JUN.

John Macdonald, author of the following song, is described in "Mackenzie's Collection" as having rented the farm of Scoraig, Lochbroom, and subsequently fixed his residence in the island of Lewis. The present translation is from the pen of Mr D. Macpherson of London.

MARY, THE FAIR OF GLENSMOLE.

Sweet the rising mountains, red with heather bells,
Sweet the bubbling fountains and the dewy dells,
Sweet the snowy blossom of the thorny tree,
Sweeter is young Mary of Glensmole to me.

Sweet, oh, sweet! with Mary o'er the wilds to stray,
When Glensmole is dress'd in all the pride of May;
And, when weary roving through the greenwood glade,
Softly to recline beneath the birken shade.
Sweet the rising mountains, &c.

There to fix my gaze in raptures of delight,
On her eyes of truth, of love, of life, of light;
On her bosom, purer than the silver tide,
Fairer than the _cana_ on the mountain side.
Sweet the rising mountains, &c.

What were all the sounds contrived by tuneful men,
To the warbling wild notes of the sylvan glen?
Here the merry lark ascends on dewy wing,
There the mellow mavis and the blackbird sing.
Sweet the rising mountains, &c.

What were all the splendour of the proud and great,
To the simple pleasures of our green retreat?
From the crystal spring fresh vigour we inhale,
Rosy health does court us on the mountain gale.
Sweet the rising mountains, &c.

Were I offer'd all the wealth that Albion yields,
All her lofty mountains and her fruitful fields,
With the countless riches of her subject seas,
I would scorn the change for blisses such as these!
Sweet the rising mountains, red with heather bells,
Sweet the bubbling fountains and the dewy dells,
Sweet the snowy blossom of the thorny tree,
Sweeter is young Mary of Glensmole to me.

EVAN M'COLL.[16]

FOOTNOTES:

[16] For Biographical Sketch, see p. 222.

THE CHILD OF PROMISE.

She died--as die the roses
On the ruddy clouds of dawn,
When the envious sun discloses
His flame, and morning 's gone.

She died--like waves of sun-glow
Fast by the shadows chased:
She died--like heaven's rainbow
By gushing showers effaced.

She died--like flakes appearing
On the shore beside the sea;
Thy snow as bright! but, nearing,
The ground-swell broke on thee.

She died--as dies the glory
Of music's sweetest swell:
She died--as dies the story
When the best is still to tell.

She died--as dies moon-beaming
When scowls the rayless wave:
She died--like sweetest dreaming,
That hastens to its grave.

She died--and died she early:
Heaven wearied for its own.
As the dipping sun, my Mary,
Thy morning ray went down!

INDEX

TO THE

FIRST LINES OF THE SONGS.

A bonnie rose bloom'd wild and fair, vol. iv., 112.

Adieu--a long and last adieu, vol. iii., 207.

Adieu, lovely summer, I see thee declining, vol. i., 273.

Adieu, romantic banks of Clyde, vol. iii., 30.

Adieu, ye streams that smoothly glide, vol. i., 42.

Adieu, ye wither'd flow'rets, vol. iv., 207.

Admiring nature's simple charms, vol. ii., 239.

Ah! do not bid me wake the lute, vol. ii., 283.

Adown the burnie's flowery bank, vol. ii., 227.

Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out, vol. i., 118.

Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, vol. iii., 31.

Ah! faded is that lovely bloom, vol. ii., 276.

Afar from the home where his youthful prime, vol. vi., 165.

Afore the Lammas tide, vol. iv., 197.

Afore the muircock begin to craw, vol. ii., 67.

Again the laverock seeks the sky, vol. v., 82.

Ages, ages have departed, vol. i., 258.

A health to Caberfae, vol. i., 357.

Alake for the lassie! she's no right at a', vol. ii., 317.

A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen, vol. ii., 184.

Alas! how true the boding voice, vol. v., 87.

Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, vol. i., 300.

Ah! little did my mother think, vol. i., 234.

A lively young lass had a wee pickle tow, vol. i., 142.

All lovely and bright, 'mid the desert of time, vol. iv., 173.

All night, by the pathway that crosses the muir, vol. iv., 141.

Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube, vol. ii., 264.

Along by Levern stream so clear, vol. ii., 201.

Although the lays o' ither lands, vol. vi., 96.

Amang the birks sae blithe an' gay, vol. ii., 227.

Amang the breezy heights and howes, vol. vi., 49.

Ah! Mary, sweetest maid, farewell, vol. ii., 211.

And can thy bosom bear the thought, vol. iv., 100.

And dost thou speak sincere, my love, vol. ii., 116.

And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, vol. iii., 245.

Ah no! I cannot say farewell, vol. iii., 79.

Ah, Peggie, since thou 'rt gane away, vol. ii., 72.

A pretty young maiden sat on the grass, vol. iii., 251.

Argyle is my name, and you may think it strange, vol ii., 216.

As clear is Luther's wave, I ween, vol. iii., 224.

As I sat by the grave, at the brink of its cave, vol. i., 326.

As lockfasted in slumber's arms, vol. i., 330.

As o'er the Highland hills I hied, vol. i., 37.

A song, a song, brave hearts, a song, vol. v., 8.

As sunshine to the flowers in May, vol. v., 99.

At hame or afield, I 'm cheerless and lone, vol. iii., 124.

Ah! the wound of my breast sinks my heart to the dust, vol. ii., 343.

At waking so early, vol. i., 311.

At Willie's weddin' on the green, vol. ii., 210.

Auld Peter MacGowan cam' down the craft, vol. v., 10.

Awake, thou first of creatures, indignant in their frown, vol. iii., 123.

Away, away, like a child at play, vol. vi., 68.

Away, away, my gallant bark, vol. vi., 84.

Away on the breast of the ocean, vol. vi., 211.

Away on the wings of the wind she flies, vol. iv., 160.

Away to the Highlands, where Lomond is flowing, vol. v., 254.

A weary lot is thine, fair maid, vol. i., 300.

A wee bird cam' to our ha' door, vol. iii., 128.

A wee bird sits upon a spray, vol. iv., 190.

A wee bit laddie sits wi' a bowl upon his knees, vol. vi., 145.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, vol. iii., 15.

A young gudewife is in my house, vol. i., 141.

Bare was our burn brae, vol. v., 65.

Beautiful moon, wilt thou tell me where, vol. vi., 44.

Be eident, be eident, fleet time rushes on, vol. v., 209.

Behave yoursel' before folk, vol. iii., 74.

Believe me or doubt me, I dinna care whilk, vol. ii., 108.

Ben Cruachan is king of the mountains, vol. vi., 115.

Beneath a hill, 'mang birken bushes, vol. iv., 294.

Bird of the wilderness, vol. i., 52.

Blaw saftly, ye breezes, ye streams, smoothly murmur, vol. i., 243.

Blest be the hour of night, vol. vi., 48.

Blink over the burn, my sweet Betty, vol. ii., 171.

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, vol. iii., 140.

Blithe be the mind of the ploughman, vol. v., 176.

Blithe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father, O, vol. ii., 148.

Blithe young Bess to Jean did say, vol. ii., 82.

Blue are the hills above the Spey, vol. v., 212.

Bonnie Bessie Lee had a face fu' o' smiles, vol. iv., 233.

Bonnie Bonaly's wee fairy-led stream, vol. v., 207.

Bonnie Charlie 's now awa, vol. i., 218.

Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander, vol. ii., 230.

Bonnie lassie, blithesome lassie, vol. ii., 188.

Bonnie Mary Hay, I will lo'e thee yet, vol. vi., 33.

Born where the glorious starlights trace, vol. iv., 150.

Bring the rod, the line, the reel, vol. v., 221.

Brither Jamie cam' west wi' a braw burn trout, vol. ii., 109.

Built on Time's uneven sand, vol. vi., 198.

By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep, vol. i., 110.

By Niagara's flood, vol. vi., 81.

By the lone Mankayana's margin gray, vol. iii., 107.

By yon hoarse murmurin' stream, 'neath the moon's chilly beam, vol. i, 212.

Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock, vol. ii., 53.

Calm sleep the village dead, vol. v., 260.

Cam' ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, vol. ii., 51.

Can my dearest Henry leave me, vol. iii., 41.

Can ought be constant as the sun, vol. ii., 249.

Can ye lo'e, my dear lassie, vol. v., 63.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, vol. iv., 89.

Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south, vol. i., 119.

Change! change! the mournful story, vol. v., 173.

Charlie 's comin' o'er the sea, vol. vi., 160.

Chaunt me no more thy roundelay, vol. ii., 174.

Cheer, boys, cheer! no more of idle sorrow, vol. vi., 20.

Clan Lachlan's tuneful mavis, I sing on the branches early, vol. iv., 282.

Close by the marge of Leman's Lake, vol. vi., 177.

Come all ye jolly shepherds, vol. ii., 55.

Come awa', come awa', vol. iii., 109.

Come awa', hie awa', vol. ii., 171.

Come back, come back, thou youthful time, vol. vi., 17.

Come gie us a sang, Montgomery cried, vol. i., 11.

Come, maid, upon yon mountain brow, vol. iii., 19.

Come, memory, paint, though far away, vol. vi., 52.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, vol. ii., 59.

Come see my scarlet rose-bush, vol. vi., 37.

Come sit down, my cronie, an' gie me your crack, vol. ii., 306.

Come under my plaidie, the night's gaun to fa', vol. i., 89.

Come when the dawn of the morning is breaking, vol. v., 15.

Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, vol. v., 202.

Could we but look beyond our sphere, vol. iii., 199.

Creep awa', my bairnie, creep afore ye gang, vol. v., 205.

Culloden, on thy swarthy brow, vol. iii., 46.

Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main, vol. i., 179.

Dear aunty, I've been lang your care, vol. ii., 95.

Dear aunty, what think ye o' auld Johnny Graham, vol. v., 107.

Dearest love believe me, vol. iii., 110.

Dear to my heart as life's warm stream, vol. i., 44.

Does grief appeal to you, ye leal, vol. ii., 341.

Down by a crystal stream, vol. vi., 207.

Down in the valley lone, vol. v., 181.

Down whar the burnie rins whimplin' and cheery, vol. v., 25.

Do you know what the birds are singing? vol. vi., 134.

Each whirl of the wheel, vol. v., 61.

Easy is my pillow press'd, vol. ii., 349.

Eliza fair, the mirth of May, vol. v., 138.

Eliza was a bonnie lass, and, oh! she lo'ed me weel, vol. iv., 187.

Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me doun, vol. ii., 246.

Ere foreign fashions crossed the Tweed, vol. iii., 189.

Exiled far from scenes of pleasure, vol. ii., 165.

Eye of the brain and heart, vol. v., 133.

Fain wad I, fain wad I hae the bloody wars to cease, vol. i., 269.

Fair are the fleecy flocks that feed, vol. ii., 128.

Fair as a star of light, vol. vi., 179.

Fair Ellen, here again I stand, vol. v., 141.

Fair modest flower of matchless worth, vol. i., 157.

Fair Scotland, dear as life to me, vol. v., 137.

Fare-thee-weel, for I must leave thee, vol. iii., 263.

Fare-thee-weel, my bonnie lassie, vol. iii., 225.

Fareweel, O! fareweel, vol. i., 238.

Fareweel to ilk hill whar the red heather grows, vol. v., 91.

Fareweel, ye fields and meadows green, vol. i., 121.

Farewell, and though my steps depart, vol. iii., 116.

Farewell, our father's land, vol. iii., 249.

Farewell ye braes of broad Braemar, vol. vi., 117.

Farewell, ye streams sae dear to me, vol. ii., 232.

Far lone amang the Highland hills, vol. ii., 139.

Far over yon hills of the heather sae green, vol. ii., 50.

Fierce as its sunlight, the East may be proud, vol. vi., 28.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, vol. ii., 112.

Float forth, thou flag of the free, vol. vi., 221.

Flowers of summer sweetly springing, vol. v., 251.

Flow saftly thou stream through the wild spangled valley, vol. iii., 243.

For mony lang year I hae heard frae my granny, vol. ii., 250.

For success a prayer with a farewell bear, vol. iii., 284.

For twenty years and more, vol. v., 80.

From beauty's soft lips, like the balm of its roses, vol. iv., 97.

From the climes of the sun all war-worn and weary, vol. ii., 220.

From the deep and troubled waters, vol. vi., 25.

From the village of Leslie with a heart full of glee, vol. i., 182.

Fy, let us a' to the wedding, vol. i., 136.

Gae bring my guid auld harp ance mair, vol. iv., 58.

Gane were but the winter cauld, vol. iii., 12.

Gang wi' me to yonder howe, bonnie Peggie, O! vol. iv., 133.

Give me the hour when bells are rung, vol. vi., 149.

Give the swains of Italia, vol. vi., 223.

Glad tidings for the Highlands, vol. ii., 335.

Gloomy winter's now awa', vol. ii., 145.

Good morrow, good morrow, warm, rosy, and bright, vol. v., 16.

Good night, and joy be wi' ye a', vol. ii., 214.

Good night, the silver stars are clear, vol. v., 246.

Go to Berwick, Johnnie, vol. i., 121.

Go to him then if thou canst go, vol. ii., 300.

Grim winter was howlin' owre muir and owre mountain, vol. iii., 55.

Guid night and joy be wi' ye a', vol. iv., 114.

Had I the wings of a dove I would fly, vol. v., 261.

Hae ye been in the north, bonnie lassie, vol. ii., 308.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances, vol. i., 295.

Hark, hark, the skylark singing, vol. ii., 202.

Hark, the martial drums resound, vol. ii., 164.

Haste all ye fairy elves hither to me, vol. iv., 131.

Heard ye the bagpipe or saw ye the banners, vol. iv., 78.

Heart, take courage, 'tis not worthy, vol. vi., 9.

Heaven speed the righteous sword, vol. i., 254.

Hech, what a change hae we now in this toun, vol. ii., 215.

Hech, hey, the mirth that was there, vol. i., 205.

He left his native land, and far away, vol. v., 111.

He loved her for her merry eyes, vol. v., 244.

Here 's to them, to them that are gane, vol. i., 237.

Her eyes were red with weeping, vol. iii., 136.

Here we go upon the tide, vol. ii., 69.

Here 's to the year that 's awa', vol. v., 78.

Her hair was like the Cromla mist, vol. ii., 177.

Her lip is o' the rose's hue, vol. v., 117.

Hersell pe auchty years and twa, vol. ii., 71.

He 's a terrible man, John Tod, John Tod, vol. i., 216.

He is gone, he is gone, vol. iii., 240.

He 's gone on the mountain, vol. i., 299.

He 's lifeless amang the rude billows, vol. i., 202.

He 's no more on the green hill, he has left the wide forest, vol. i., 272.

He sorrowfu' sat by the ingle cheek, vol. vi., 138.

He 's ower the hills that I lo'e weel, vol. i., 211.

Hey for the Hielan' heather, vol. iv., 110.

Hey, my bonnie wee lassie, vol. v., 18.

Home of my fathers, though far from thy grandeur, vol. iii., 136.

Hope cannot cheat us, vol. vi., 15.

How blest were the days o' langsyne, when a laddie, vol. iii., 39.

How blithely the pipe through Glenlyon was sounding, vol. v., 26.

How brightly beams the bonnie moon, vol. iii., 73.

How early I woo'd thee, how dearly I lo'ed thee, vol. v., 160.

How eerily, how drearily, how eerily to pine, vol. iii., 137.

How happy a life does the parson possess, vol. i., 28.

How happy lives the peasant by his ain fireside, vol. iii., 78.

How often death art waking, vol. i., 321.

How pleasant, how pleasant to wander away, vol. ii, 274.

How sweet are Leven's silver streams, vol. iii., 36.

How sweet are the blushes of morn, vol. v., 35.

How sweet is the scene at the waking of morning, vol. ii., 243.

How sweet the dewy bell is spread, vol. iii., 259.

How sweet thy modest light to view, vol. ii., 196.

Hurra! for the land o' the broom-cover'd brae, vol. vi., 103.

Hurrah for Scotland's worth and fame, vol. v., 229.

Hurrah for the Highlands, the brave Scottish Highlands, vol. v., 249.

Hurrah for the Thistle, the brave Scottish Thistle, vol. v., 232.

Hurrah, hurrah for the boundless sea, vol. vi., 189.

Hurrah, hurrah, we 've glory won, vol. v., 89.

Hush, ye songsters, day is done, vol. iii., 159.

I ask no lordling's titled name, vol. ii., 166.

I canna leave my native land, vol. vi., 228.

I canna sleep a wink, lassie, vol. v., 183.

I cannot give thee all my heart, vol. vi., 11.

I dream'd thou wert a fairy harp, vol. vi., 29.

If Fortune with a smiling face, vol. vi., 12.

I fleet along, and the empires fall, vol. vi., 167.

I fly from the fold since my passion's despair, vol. i., 316.

I form'd a green bower by the rill o' yon glen, vol. iv., 62.

If there 's a word that whispers love, vol. v., 266.

If wealth thou art wooing, or title, or fame, vol. v., 7.

I gaed to spend a week in Fife, vol. vi., 55.

I hae naebody noo, I hae naebody noo, vol. ii., 77.

I have wander'd afar, 'neath stranger skies, vol. vi., 88.

I heard a wee bird singing, vol. v., 32.

I heard the evening linnet's voice the woodland tufts amang, vol. iii., 61.

I lately lived in quiet ease, vol. ii., 62.

I like to spring in the morning bricht, vol. v., 98.

I 'll no be had for naething, vol. i., 230.

I 'll no walk by the kirk, mother, vol. vi., 42.

I 'll sing of yon glen of red heather, vol. ii., 74.

I 'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May, vol. v., 155.

I 'll think on thee, Love, when thy bark, vol. vi., 50.

I 'll think o' thee, my Mary Steel, vol. iv., 268.

I 'll twine a gowany garland, vol. vi., 105.

I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane, vol. i., 90.

I love a sweet lassie, mair gentle and true, vol. vi., 144.

I love the free ridge of the mountain, vol. iii., 108.

I love the merry moonlight, vol. iv., 135.

I love the sea, I love the sea, vol. iv., 162.

I 'm afloat, I 'm afloat on the wild sea waves, vol. vi., 187.

I mark'd her look of agony, vol. iii., 167.

I 'm a very little man, vol. vi., 147.

I 'm away, I 'm away like a thing that is wild, vol. v., 255.

I 'm naebody noo, though in days that are gane, vol. v., 182.

I 'm now a guid farmer, I 've acres o' land, vol. i., 263.

I 'm wand'rin' wide this wintry night, vol. v., 158.

I 'm wearin' awa', John, vol. i., 196.

I met four chaps yon birks amang, vol. ii., 208.

In a dream of the night I was wafted away, vol. iii. 257.

In a howm, by a burn, where the brown birks grow, vol. vi., 234.

In all its rich wildness her home she is leaving, vol. i., 200.

In a saft simmer gloamin', vol. iii., 236.

In distant years when other arms, vol. v., 123.

I neither got promise of siller nor land, vol. iii., 147.

I never thocht to thole the waes, vol. iv., 221.

In her chamber, vigil keeping, vol. vi., 213.

In life's gay morn, when hopes beat high, vol. iii., 42.

In that home was joy and sorrow, vol. vi., 184.

In the morning of life, when its sunny smile, vol. iii., 200.

I pray for you of your courtesy, before we further move, vol. v., 144.

I remember the time, thou roaring sea, vol. vi., 13.

Isabel Mackay is with the milk kye, vol. i., 318.

I sat in the vale 'neath the hawthorns so hoary, vol. iv., 60.

I saw my true love first on the banks of queenly Tay, vol. iii., 121.

I see, I see the Hirta, the land of my desire, vol. v., 282.

I see the wretch of high degree, vol. i., 315.

Is not the earth a burial-place, vol. v., 269.

I sing of gentle woodcroft gay, for well I love to rove, vol. v., 92.

Is our Helen very fair, vol. vi., 182.

Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever, M'Crimman, vol. iv., 166.

It fell on a morning when we were thrang, vol. i, 146.

It has long been my fate to be thought in the wrong, vol. i., 22.

It 's dowie in the hint o' hairst, vol. v., 62.

It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, vol. iii., 13.

It was an English ladye bright, vol. i., 289.

I 've listened to the midnight wind, vol. iii., 203.

I 've a guinea I can spend, vol. vi., 22.

I 've been upon the moonlit deep, vol. vi., 70.

I 've loved thee, old Scotia, and love thee I will, vol. ii., 296.

I 've met wi' mony maidens fair, vol. vi., 91.

I 've no sheep on the mountain nor boat on the lake, vol. i., 132.

I 've rocked me on the giddy mast, vol. iii., 20.

I 've seen the lily of the wold, vol. iii., 48.

I 've seen the smiling summer flower, vol. iv., 245.

I 've wander'd east, I 've wander'd west, vol. iii., 233.

I 've wander'd on the sunny hill, I 've wander'd in the vale, vol. iv., 192.

I wadna gi'e my ain wife, vol. iv., 246.

I walk'd by mysel' owre the sweet braes o' Yarrow, vol. iii., 86.

I wander'd alane at the break o' the mornin', vol. vi., 89.

I warn you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh, vol. ii., 197.

I wiled my lass wi' lovin' words to Kelvin's leafy shade, vol. v., 274.

I will sing a song of summer, vol. vi., 186.

I will think of thee yet, though afar I may be, vol. iv., 167.

I will wake my harp when the shades of even, vol. iv., 170.

I winna bide in your castle ha's, vol. iv., 229.

I winna gang back to my minny again, vol. ii., 248.

I winna love the laddie that ca's the cart and pleugh, vol. iv., 63.

I wish I were where Helen lies, vol. i., 111.

Jenny's heart was frank and free, vol. i., 114.

John Anderson, my jo, John, vol. i., 155.

Joy of my earliest days, vol. i., 203.

Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer, vol. ii., 141.

Land of my fathers! night's dark gloom, vol. iii., 167.

Land of my fathers, I leave thee in sadness, vol. vi., 207.

Lane on the winding Earn there stands, vol. i., 223.

Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me, vol. iv., 224.

Lassie, dear lassie, the dew 's on the gowan, vol. iv., 168.

Lassie wi' the gowden hair, vol. i., 87.

Last midsummer's morning, as going to the fair, vol. i., 123.

Lat me look into thy face, Jeanie, vol. vi., 135.

Leafless and bare were the shrub and the flower, vol. iv., 76.

Leave the city's busy throng, vol. vi., 143.

Let Highland lads, wi' belted plaids, vol. iv., 77.

Let ither anglers choose their ain, vol. v., 222.

Let the maids of the Lowlands, vol. iii., 272.

Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers, vol. iv., 177.

Let us go, lassie, go, vol. ii., 143.

Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O, vol. iv., 264.

Let wrapt musicians strike the lyre, vol. iii., 146.

Life's pleasure seems sadness and care, vol. vi., 194.

Liking is a little boy, vol. vi., 120.

Listen to me, as when ye heard our father, vol. iii., 183.

Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale, vol. ii., 75.

Look up, old friend, why hang thy head, vol. vi., 199.

Lord Ronald came to his lady's bower, vol. ii., 181.

Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, vol. ii., 137.

Love brought me a bough o' the willow sae green, vol. iii., 188.

Love flies the haunts of pomp and power, vol. v., 79.

Love is timid, love is shy, vol. iii., 196.

Loved land of my kindred, farewell, and for ever, vol. iv., 111.

Lovely maiden, art thou sleeping, vol. iii., 76.

Lowland lassie, wilt thou go, vol. ii., 151.

'Mang a' the lasses young and braw, vol. iii., 214.

Meet me on the gowan lea, vol. v., 147.

Meg muckin' at Geordie's byre, vol. i., 244.

Men of England, who inherit, vol. ii., 268.

Mild as the morning, a rose-bud of beauty, vol. v., 37.

More dark is my soul than the scenes of yon islands, vol. iv., 57.

Mourn for the mighty dead, vol. vi., 21.

Mournfully, oh, mournfully, vol. iii., 239.

Musing, we sat in our garden bower, vol. v., 100.

My beauty dark, my glossy bright, vol. ii., 347.

My beauty of the shieling, vol. vi., 250.

My Bessie, oh, but look upon these bonnie budding flowers, vol. iv., 189.

My bonnie wee Bell was a mitherless bairn, vol. v., 67.

My bonnie wee wifie, I 'm waefu' to leave thee, vol. v., 13.

My brothers are the stately trees, vol. iv., 254.

My brown dairy, brown dairy, vol. ii., 327.

My couthie auld wife, aye blithsome to see, vol. vi., 102.

My darling is the philabeg, vol. v., 290.

My dearest, wilt thou follow, vol. vi., 252.

My dear little lassie, why, what 's the matter? vol. i., 246.

My hawk is tired of perch and hood, vol. i., 298.

My lassie is lovely, as May-day adorning, vol. iii., 48.

My love, come let us wander, vol. iii., 197.

My love 's in Germanie, send him hame, send him hame, vol. i., 95.

My luve 's a flower in garden fair, vol. v., 189.

My mother bids me bind my hair, vol. i., 41.

My mountain hame, my mountain hame, vol. iv., 194.

My name it is Donald M'Donald, vol. ii., 48.

My native land, my native land, vol. vi., 206.

My soul is ever with thee, vol. v., 106.

My spirit could its vigil hold, vol. iv., 152.

My tortured bosom long shall feel, vol. iii., 141.

My wee wife dwells in yonder cot, vol. iv., 187.

My wife 's a winsome wee thing, vol. ii., 299.

My young heart's luve! twal' years hae been, vol. iv., 259.

My young, my fair, my fair-haired Mary, vol. i., 335.

Nae mair we 'll meet again, my love, by yon burn-side, vol. iii., 227.

Name the leaves on all the trees, vol. vi., 118.

Never despair! when the dark cloud is lowering, vol. v., 75.

Night turns to day, vol. i., 255.

No homeward scene near me, vol. iv., 290.

No more by thy margin, dark Carron, vol. vi., 202.

No one knows what silent secrets, vol. vi., 24.

No sky shines so bright as the sky that is spread, vol. iv., 61.

No sound was heard o'er the broom-covered valley, vol. iv., 86.

Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the shore, vol. iv., 281.

Now bank and brae are clad in green, vol. ii., 245.

Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird, vol. ii., 92.

Now, Mary, now, the struggle 's o'er, vol. iii., 229.

Now rests the red sun in his caves of the ocean, vol. ii., 254.

Now simmer decks the field wi' flowers, vol. ii., 304.

Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, vol. ii., 229.

Now summer shines with gaudy pride, vol. ii., 116.

Now the beams of May morn, vol. iii., 149.

Now there 's peace on the shore, now there 's calm on the sea, vol. iii., 177.

Now winter wi' his cloudy brow, vol. ii., 147.

Now winter's wind sweeps o'er the mountains, vol. i., 165.

Oh! are ye sleeping, Maggie, vol. ii., 156.

Oh! away to the Tweed, vol. v., 94.

Oh, beautiful and bright thou art, vol. vi., 197.

Oh, blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft, vol. i., 124.

Oh, blessing on her star-like e'en, vol. v., 102.

Oh! blessing on thee, land, vol. v., 104.

Oh, bonnie are the howes, vol. iv., 200.

Oh, bonnie buds yon birchen-tree, vol. ii., 240.

Oh, bonnie Nelly Brown, I will sing a song to thee, vol. v., 276.

Oh, bonnie 's the lily that blooms in the valley, vol. v., 194.

Oh, brave Caledonians, my brothers, my friends, vol. iii., 114.

Oh, bright the beaming queen o' night, vol. v., 146.

Oh, Castell Gloom! thy strength is gone, vol. i., 221.

Oh, Charlie is my darling, vol. iii., 53.

Oh, come my bonnie bark, vol. iii., 16.

Oh, come with me for the queen of night, vol. iii., 59.

October winds wi' biting breath, vol. ii., 203.

O dear, dear to me, vol. vi., 92.

Oh! dear to my heart are my heather-clad mountains, vol. v., 239.

Oh! dear were the joys that are past, vol. iii., 62.

Oh, dinna ask me gin I lo'e thee, vol. v., 78.

Oh, dinna be sae sair cast down, vol. v., 43.

Oh, dinna cross the burn, Willie, vol. v., 150.

Oh, dinna look ye pridefu' doon on a' beneath your ken, vol. v., 204.

Oh, dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee, vol. i., 96.

Oh, distant, but dear, is that sweet island wherein, vol. ii., 109.

O'er mountain and valley, vol. iii., 169.

O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the gray mountain straying, vol. v., 47.

Of learning long a scantling was the portion of the Gael, vol. v., 295.

Of Nelson and the north, vol. ii., 265.

Of streams that down the valley run, vol. ii., 129.

Oh, gentle sleep wilt thou lay thy head, vol. iii., 90.

Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins, vol. iv., 117.

Oh, grand bounds the deer o'er the mountain, vol. i., 55.

Oh, guess ye wha I met yestreen, vol. vi., 129.