SCOTCH.

CHARLIE MACHREE.

WILLIAM J. HOPPIN.

COME Over, come over the river to me,
If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree!
Here's Mary McPherson and Susy O'Linn,
Who say ye're faint-hearted, and dare not plunge in.

But the dark rolling river, though deep as the sea,
I know cannot scare you, nor keep you from me;
For stout is your back and strong is your arm,
And the heart in your bosom is faithful and warm.

Come over, come over the river to me,

If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree.
I see him, I see him he's plunged in the tide,
His strong arms are dashing the big waves aside.

O, the dark rolling water shoots swift as the sea,
But blithe is the glance of his bonny blue e'e ;
His cheeks are like roses, twa buds on a bough:
Who says ye're faint-hearted, my brave laddie, now?

Ho, ho, foaming river, ye may roar as ye go,
But ye canna bear Charlie to the dark loch below!
Come over, come over the river to me,

My true-hearted laddie, my Charlie Machree!

He's sinking, he's sinking, —O, what shall I do! Strike out, Charlie, boldly, ten strokes and ye're thro'. He's sinking, O Heaven! Ne'er fear, man, ne'er fear; I've a kiss for ye, Charlie, as soon as ye're here!

He rises, I see him, - five strokes, Charlie, mair,-
He's shaking the wet from his bonny brown hair;
He conquers the current, he gains on the sea,-
Ho, where is the swimmer like Charlie Machree!

Come over the river, but once come to me,
And I'll love ye forever, dear Charlie Machree.
He's sinking, he's gone, - O God, it is I,

It is I, who have kill'd him, — help, help! — he must die

Help, help!-ah, he rises, strike out and ye're free.
Ho, bravely done, Charlie, once more now, for me!
Now cling to the rock, now give me your hand,—
Ye're safe, dearest Charlie, ye're safe on the land!

Come rest on my bosom, if there ye can sleep;
I canna speak to ye; I only can weep.

Ye've cross'd the wild river, ye've risk'd all for me,
And I'll part frae ye never, dear Charlie Machree!

Wee Jamie wi' the curley heid
He aye sleeps next the wa'
Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece "
The rascal starts them a'.

I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks,
They stop a wee the soun',

Then draw the blankets up, and cry,
"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon!"

But, ere five minutes gang, wee Rab
Cries oot, frae 'neath the claes,

"Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance;
He's kittlin' wi' his taes."

The mischief's in that Tam for tricks :
He'd bother half the toon;

But aye I hap them up, and cry,

66

"O, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

At length they hear their father's fit;

An', as he steeks the door,

They turn their faces to the wa',

While Tam pretends to snore.

"Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, As he pits aff his shoon.

"The bairnies, John, are in their beds,
An' lang since cuddled doon."

An', just afore we bed oorsels,
We look at oor wee lambs:

Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck,
An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's.

I lift wee Jamie up the bed,
An', as I straik each croon,
I whisper, till my heart fills up,
"O, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht
Wi' mirth that's dear to me;

But soon the big warl's cark an care

Will quaten doon their glee:

Yet, come what will to ilka ane,

May He who sits aboon

Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld,

"O bairnies, cuddle doon!'

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

ROBERT BURNS.

JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither.
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go ;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

JEANIE MORRISON.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELI.

I'VE Wander'd east, I've wander❜d west,

Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears, And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, "Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time

sad time! twa bairns at scule,

Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones and looks and smiles were shed, Remember'd evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof,
What our wee heads could think.

When baith bent down ower ae braid page,
Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lessons, but
My lesson was in thee.

O, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said,
We cleek'd thegither hame?

And mind ye o' the Saturdays,

(The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-time, and o' thee.

O mornin' life! O mornin' luve !
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang !

O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left

The deavin', dinsome toun,