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Oh! she promised to be mine

In yon lane glen;
Her heart she did resign

In yon lane glen :
An' mony a happy day

Did o'er us pass away, Beside the bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen.

Sax bonnie bairns had we

In yon lane glen-Lads an’ lasses young an' spree

In yon lane glen ; An' a' blither family

Than ours there cou'dna be,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen.
Now my auld wife's gane awa'

Frae yon lane glen ;
An' though simmer sweet doth fa'

On yon lane glen,
To me its beauty's gane,

For alake! I sit alane,
Beside the bonnie rowan bush

In yon lane glen.

Her drink's o' the best-she's hearty aye,

An' her house is neat an' cleanThere's no an auld wife in the public line

Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
She has aye a curtsey for the laird

When he comes to drink his can,
An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife,

An' a joke for the farmer's man.
She toddles but, an' she toddles ben,

Like ony wee bit queanThere's no an' auld wife in the public line

Can match wi' Janet Macbean. The beggar wives gang a' to her, An' she sairs them wi' bread an'

cheese, Her bread in bannocks an' cheese in

whangs Wi' a blythe gudewill she gi’es. Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair

When she's laid aneath the greenThere's no an auld wife in the public line

Can match wi' Janet Macbean. Amang alehouse wives she rules the roast ;

For upo' the Sabbath days She puts on her weel hain'd tartan plaid

An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes, An' she sits, nae less! in the minister's

seat ; Ilk psalm she lilts, I weenThere's no an auld wife in the public line

Can match wi' Janet Macbean.

JANET MACBEAN.

Janet Macbean a public keeps,

An'a merry auld wife is she ; An' she sells her yill wi' a jaunty air

That wad please your heart to see.

ANONYMOUS POETRY.

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HOO THE LASSIE BRAK THE Whene'er folk cou'dna keep her clues, BOWL.

She heckled them aboot their views;

But when their wrath began to boil, [The catastrophe of this poem may She grew real“ fear't aboot their sowl." not be original, nor the poetry of a high 'Twas queer! (but nocht's sae queer as order, yet the characters are drawn with folk), much force and truth, and though not

An' to the workin' she wad yoke uncommon, have not been previously Through perfect spite an' fair ill-naturo; preserved in verse. We know not if An' the deil's buckie o' a cratur the author is known, for we have never

Was o' the pipe a mortal hater. seen the poem in any collection, and have John, honest man, had aye to hap,

For peacesake, ower the weeshen stap ;' taken it from a newspaper cutting.]

But ere the lintel he wad pass,

'Twas—“Man, for gudesake mind the bass: Whar Neidpath's wa's wi' pride look doon Tak' care o' this, tak’ care o' that ; Upon a guid auld borough toon,

Haud aff the hearth noo whan it's wat, A crankie cratur leev'd langsyne,

Whan ance it's dry, syne tak’ a heat ; Amang the gude auld freen's o' mine

Tak’ care, man, whar ye set your feet! Amang the sib as sib cou'd be

Fa’ to yer parritch, an' beware But weel-I-wat ye soon sall see

Ye let nae jaups fa' on the flare ;? She wasna ae drap's bluid to me.

Weel ower the bicker haud yer snout, Ane o' the awfu' cleanin' kind,

Nor fyle my weel-washed table clout. That clean folk clean oot o' their mind; To toil, noo, 'deed, I'm no sae ableAn' aften as we've seen betide,

Keep yer black dottle aff the table ! Clean guid men frae their ain fireside. Waes me! but ye hae little thocht, A fykie, fashious, yammerin' yaud, Ye never think hoo sair I'm wrocht, That cou'd the gear fu' steevely haud ; To hae things richt whan hame ye comeAn' ill-set, sour, ill-willy wilk

Confoond ye ! smoke it up the lum ! She had a face 'twad yearned milk,

"Some men wad hae the mense to say, Forbye a loud, ill-scraipit tongue

• Ye're sair forfeuchen-like 3 the day; As e'er in harmless heid was hung :

Puir body! od,' I'm sure ye're wearit'To girn an' growi, to wark an' flyte,

The like o' that wad gie a body speerit. Was aye the ill-spun wisp's delight. O’heveen, I'm sure that Tibbie's meanin' But you!whane'er ye've clawed yer coggie, Was ae great everlastin' cleanin'.

Ye mak' this hoose a fair killogie. 4

In ower the door there's no a steek
Frae morn to nicht she ne'er was still

But's pushioned wi' yer 'bacca-reek,
Her life was like a teugh treadmill ;
She just was like an evil speerit,

I The washed door-step.
She ne'er cou'd settle for a minute ;

Spatters fall on the fluor. But whan a dud she made, or clootit,

3 Look over wrought. Soon a' the toon wad hear about it.

4 The entrance to a kiln.

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Our review
Scottish Poetry pro-

TIBBY AND THE LAIRD. perly ends with Robert Nicoll. The

(ALEXANDER MACLAGAN). anonymous pieces which follow, like those attached to former periods, are

Auld Robin, our laird, thought o'changin'

his life, placed at the end as a matter of arrange

But he didna weel ken whaur to wale a ment. Our design has been to give a select,

gude wife.

A plump quean had he, wha had served not an exhaustive view of the subject;

him for years : placing the means of estimating the

' Ho, Tibby!” he cried. Lo! douce character and quality, rather than the Tibby appears. extent of Scottish poetry, within easy “Sit doun," said the laird ; "ye are reach of the public. We do not think wanted awee.” that a continuation to the present date “Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, would present any new features, espe

it be." cially in its more peculiarly Scotch

“Noo, Tibby," quo' he, “there's a queer aspects, for, though Scottish poetry

rumour rins will always retain traces of its native Through the hail country-side, that there's character, that of language it may be naebody spins, said to have already ceased to cultivate, Bakes, washes, or brews, wi' sic talents except occasionally. The dialect pre

as you ; sently spoken in out-of-the-way corners, An' what a'body says, ye ken, maun be in debased forms, is unsuitable as a true, vehicle of the national sentiments, and

So ye ought to be gratefu' for their cour

tesie.” cannot be expected or desired to hold out long against educational and other

" Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby,

sae let

it be." influences. But the language in which the noble body of Scottish poetry is “Noo, it seemeth but just an' richt proper embalmed may always be quite well

to me, understood by Scotsmen, although its use That ye milk your ain cow 'neath your as a literary medium may be said to ain fig-tree; have ceased with the productions of That a servant sae thrifty a gude wife will such devoted cultivators as James Ballantine, James Smith, and Alexander Is as clear as daylicht, sae a man ye maun

tak', Maclagan, specimens of whose poetry Wha will haud ye as dear as the licht o' we append. The future course of the

his e'e." stream of Scottish song is best indi

“Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, “sae let cated by Olrig Grange, and the few

it be." beautiful remains of Thomas Davidson.

it

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farl may be pure, Tib, though Sae come doon the stair, Tib, an' e'en ch be the shell

sleep wi' me." jetermined to wed ye mysel- “Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, sae let " a lovin' an' leal heart can

it be !"

:ld's wealth, lass, troth nought il ye want; to the bargain ye maun gi'e to

ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS

ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW. fel, sir," quo' Tibby, "sae let le."

(JAMES BALLANTYNE).

Confide ye aye in Providence, for Pro:n-day come, wi' its bride-cake vidence is kind, bans,

An' bear ye a' life's changes wi' a calm i the kitchen 'mang tubs, pats, an' tranquil mind, pans.

Though press'd an' hemm'd on every side, " quo' the laird,

"what on hae faith an' ye'll win through, th hauds you here?

For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap a' are met, in their braw o' dew. sal gear ; busk in your best, lass, an' that Gin reft frae friends, or crost in love, as dilie."

whiles, nae doubt, ye've been, el, sir," quo' Tibby, sae let Grief lies deep hidden in your heart, or

or tears flow frae your een,

Believe it for the best, and trow there's blessin' was said, an' the

good in store for you,

For ilka blade o' grass keps ain drap o' in' was done,

dew. • her bed i' the garret aboon. heard the laird's fit, an' his

In lang, lang days o'simmer, when the nt her door,

clear and cloudless sky ered—he ne'er took sic free-Rufuses ae wee drap o' rain to Nature 19 before.

parch'd and dry, bby, my lass, ye maun listen The genial night wi' balmy breath gaurs

vendure spring anew, al, sir," quo' Tibby, " sae let An' ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap

o' dew.

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le."

sby, ye ken, we were wedded Sae lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we nicht,

should feel ower proud an' hie, should be here, haith, I think An' in our pride forget to wipe the fear , richt.

frae poorith's ee, cu richt; for, when women and Some wee dark cluds o' sorrow come, we

ken na whence or hoo, I, they ought to be bedded, ye Bnt ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap

o' dew.

VALEDICTOR Y.

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Our review of Scottish Poetry pro

TIBBY AND THE LAIRD. perly ends with Robert Nicoll. The

(ALEXANDER MACLAGAN). anonymous pieces which follow, like those attached to former periods, are

Auld Robin, our laird, thought o'changin' placed at the end as a matter of arrange

his life,

But he didna weel ken whaur to wale a ment.

gude wife. Our design has been to give a select,

A plump quean had he, wha had served not an exhaustive view of the subject;

him for years : placing the means of estimating the

Ho, Tibby!” he cried. Lo! douce character and quality, rather than the Tibby appears. extent of Scottish poetry, within easy “Sit doun,” said the laird ; "ye are reach of the public. We do not think wanted awee.” that a continuation to the present date “Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, would present any new features, espe

it be." cially in its more peculiarly Scotch

"Noo, Tibby," quo' he, “there's a queer aspects, for, though Scottish poetry

rumour rins will always retain traces of its native Through the hail country-side, that there's character, that of language it may be naebody spins, said to have already ceased to cultivate, Bakes, washes, or brews, wi' sic talents except occasionally. The dialect pre- as you ; sently spoken in out-of-the-way corners, An' what a'body says, ye ken, maun be in debased forms, is unsuitable as a

true, vehicle of the national sentiments, and So ye ought to be gratefu' for their cour

tesie.” cannot be expected or desired to hold out long against educational and other

· Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby,

it be." influences. But the language in which the noble body of Scottish poetry is · Noo, it seemeth but just an' richt proper embalmed may always be quite well understood by Scotsmen, although its use That ye milk your ain cow 'neath your as a literary medium may be said to

ain fig-tree; have ceased with the productions of That a servant sae thrifty a gude wife will such devoted cultivators as James Bal

Is as clear as daylicht, sae a man ye maun lantine, James Smith, and Alexander Maclagan, specimens of whose poetry Wha will haud ye as dear as the licht o’ we append. The future course of the

his e'e." stream of Scottish song is best indi

Very weel, sir," quo' Tibby, sae let cated by Olrig Grange, and the few

it be." beautiful remains of Thomas Davidson.

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