O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie, O Kenmure's on and awa: An'Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure's band, Willie! Success to Kenmure's band! There's noa heart that fears a Whig, That rides bykenmure's hand. Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! Here's Kenmure's health in wine! There's ne'er a coward

O may, thy morn was ne'er so sweet As the mirknight o' December! For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she I dare na name, But I will aye remember: And dear was she I dare na name, ButI will aye remember. And here's to them that, like

Thou, Liberty, thou art my theme; Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddess That a fantastic cap and rod has; Such stale conceits are poor and silly; I paint thee out, a Highland filly, A sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple, As sleek's a mouse, as round's anapple, That when thou

Hail, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Fraecommon sense, or sunk enerv'd 'Mang heaps o' clavers: And och! o'er aftthy joes haestarv'd, 'Mid a'thy favours! Say, Lassie, why, thy train amang, While loud the trump's heroic clang, And sock or buskin skelpalang To death or marriage; Scarce anehas tried

Sensibility, how charming, Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell; But distress, with horrors arming, Thou alas! hast known too well! Fairest flower, behold the lily Blooming in the sunny ray: Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, See it prostrate in the clay. Hear the wood lark charm the forest, Telling o'er his little joys; Butalas!

Fareweel to a'our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, Saefam'd in martial story. Now Sarkrins over Solway sands, An'Tweed rins to the ocean, To markwhere England's province stands- Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! What force or guile could not subdue, Thro' many warlike ages, Is wrought

Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yonthorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I

Sweet are the banks-the banks o' Doon, The spreading flowers are fair, And everything is blythe and glad, But I am fu'o' care. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luvewas true: Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, That