THERE was a lad was born at Kyle,*
But what na day o' what na style
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin', rovin', rantin',

rovin' ;

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin', rovin' Robin.

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar Win'
Blew hansel in on Robin.

The gossip keekit in his loof,

Quo' scho wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae coof,

I think we'll ca' him Robin.

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma',
But ay a heart aboon them a';

He'll be a credit till us a',

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

But sure as three times three mak nine, I see by ilka score and line,

This chap will dearly like our kin',

So leeze me on thee, Robin.

• Kyle-a district of Ayrshire.

Guid faith, quo' scho, I doubt you, Sir,

But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,

So blessin's on thee, Robin!

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin' ;

Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin', rovin' Robin.

SONG.-FRAGMENT.

Tune, 'I had a Horse and Lhad nae mair.’

WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was nae steady,
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade
A mistress still I had ay:

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town,

Not dreadin' any body,

My heart was caught before I thought,

And by a Mauchline lady.

ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy;
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms

I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

Were I a Baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready, Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,

The sharin't with Montgomerie's Peggy.

SONG.-FRAGMENT.

O RAGING fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O

O raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low! O

My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow; O
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow; O
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O

But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O,

SONG.

PATRIOTIC-unfinished.

HERE'S a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,
May never guid luck be their fa'!*

It's guid to be merry and wise,
It's guid to be honest and true,
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan,

Altho' that his band be sma'.

May liberty meet wi' success!

May prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,

And wander their way to the devil!

• Fa'-lot.

Here's a health to them that's awa,
Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie,
That lives at the lug o' the law!

Here's freedom to him that wad read,

Here's freedom to him that wad write!

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be

heard,

But they wham the truth wad indite.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd, Tho' bred amang mountains o' snaw!

SONG.-FRAGMENT.

THE PLOUGHMAN.

As I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young Ploughman sae sweetly to sing,
And as he was singin' thir words he did say,
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the month
of sweet May.—

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest,

And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast, And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle and sing,

And at night she'll return to her nest back again: