wild-sounding pipes, march'd her callant awa';
Though she schules, feeds, an' cleeds his wee orphan wean,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Ye wild wintry winds, ye blaw surly and sair,
On the heart that is sad, on the wa's that are bare;
When care counts the links o' life's heavy chain,
The poor heart is hopeless that winna complain.

The Sabbath-day comes, and the Widow is seen,
I' the aisle o' the auld kirk, baith tidy and clean;
Though she aft sits for hours on the mossy grave-stane,
Yet there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

An' then when she turns frae the grave's lanely sod,
To breathe out her soul in the ear of her God,
What she utters to Him is no kent to ane,
But there 's naebody hears Widow Miller complain!

Ye wealthy an' wise in this fair world o' ours,
When your fields wave wi' gowd, your gardens wi' flowers;
When ye bind up the sheaves, leave out a few grains,
To the heart-broken Widow wha never complains.

THE HIGHLAND PLAID.

What though ye hae nor kith nor kin',
An' few to tak' your part, love;
A happy hame ye'll ever fin'
Within my glowing heart, love.
So! while I breathe the breath o' life,
Misfortune ne'er shall steer ye;
My Highland Plaid is warm an' wide--
Creep closer, my wee dearie!

The thunder loud, the burstin' cloud,
May speak o' ghaists an' witches,
An' spunkie lichts may lead puir wichts
Through bogs an' droonin' ditches;
There's no ae imp in a' the host
This nicht will daur come near ye;
My Highland Plaid is warm an' wide--
Creep closer, my wee dearie!

Why do you heave sic heavy sighs,
Why do ye sab sae sair, love?
Altho' beneath my rustic plaid
An earl's star I wear love,
I woo'd ye as a shepherd youth,
And as a queen revere thee;
My Highland plaid is warm an' wide--
Creep closer, my wee deerie!

THE FLOWER O' GLENCOE.

Oh! dear to my heart are my heather-clad mountains,
An' the echoes that burst from their caverns below,
The wild woods that darken the face of their fountains--
The haunts of the wild deer an' fleet-footed roe;
But dearer to me is the bower o' green bushes
That flowers the green bank where the Tay gladly gushes,
For there, all in tears, an' deep crimson'd wi' blushes,
I won the