n' dominie,
Will a' be at the rockin'.

The miller, wi' his mealy mou',
Wha kens sae weel the way to woo--
His faither's pipes frae Waterloo
He 'll bring to cheer our rockin'.

The souter, wi' his bristly chin,
Frae whilk the lasses screechin' rin;
The curly-headed whupper-in,
Will a' be at the rockin'.

There 's merry jokes to cheer the auld,
There 's love an' joy to warm the cauld,
There 's sangs o' weir to fire the bauld;
Sae prove our merry rockin'.

The tales they tell, the sangs they sing,
Will gar the auld clay biggin' ring,
And some will dance the Highland fling,
Right blithely at the rockin'.

Wi' wit, an' love, an' fun, an' fire,
Fond friendship will each soul inspire,
An' mirth will get her heart's desire
O' rantin', at the rockin'.

When sair foredung wi' crabbit care,
When days come dark whilk promised fair,
To cheer the gloom, just come an' share
The pleasures o' our rockin'.

THE WIDOW.

Oh, there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain,
Oh, there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain;
Though the heart o' this warld 's as hard as a stane,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain.

Though totterin' noo, like her auld crazy biel,
Her step ance the lichtest on hairst-rig or reel;
Though sighs tak' the place o' the heart-cheerin' strain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Though humble her biggin', and scanty her store,
The beggar ne'er yet went unserved frae her door;
Though she aft lifts the lid o' her girnel in vain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Though thin, thin her locks, noo like hill-drifted snaw,
Ance sae glossy and black, like the wing o' the craw;
Though grief frae her mild cheek the red rose has ta'en,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

The sang o' the lark finds the Widow asteer,
The birr o' her wheel starts the nicht's dreamy ear;
The tears o'er the tow-tap will whiles fa' like rain,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Ye may hear in her speech, ye may see in her claes,
That auld Widow Miller has seen better days,
Ere her auld Robin dee'd, sae fond an' sae fain'--
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Oh, sad was the hour when the brave Forty-twa,
Wi' their