sure your Jeanie's kind and true,
She loves nae ane but thee, Jamie;
She ne'er has gien thee cause to rue;
If sae--ye still are free, Jamie.
I winna tak your hand and heart,
If there is ane mair dear, Jamie;
I 'd sooner far for ever part
With thee--though wi' a tear, Jamie.

Then tell me your doubts and your fears,
Keep naething hid frae me, Jamie;
Are ye afraid o' coming years,
O' darker days to me, Jamie?
I 'll share your grief, I 'll share your joy,
They 'll come alike to me, Jamie;
Misfortune's hand may all destroy,
Except my love for thee, Jamie.

AWAY TO THE HIGHLANDS.

Away to the Highlands, where Lomond is flowing,
Where mists and where mountains in solitude lie,
And where the braw red-lipp'd heather is growing,
And cataracts foam, as they came from the sky!
Though scenes of the fairest are Windsor adorning,
Though England's proud structures enrapture the view;
Yet Nature's wild grandeur, all artifice scorning,
Is seen 'mong our mountains so bonnie and blue.
Then away to the hills where Loch Lomond is flowing,
Where mists and where mountains in solitude lie,
And where the braw red-lipp'd heather is growing,
And cataracts foam, as they came from the sky!

Benlomond is seen in his monarch-like glory,
His foot in the sea and his head in the sky;
His broad lofty brow is majestic and hoary,
And round him, and round him the elements fly.
The winds are his music, the clouds are his clothing,
The sun is his shield, as he wheels blazing by;
When once on his summit you 'd think you were soaring
'Mong bright beaming stars, they are rolling so nigh!
Then away to the hills where Loch Lomond is flowing,
Where mists and where mountains in solitude lie,
And where the braw red-lipp'd heather is growing,
And cataracts foam, as they came from the sky!

I 'M AWAY.

I 'm away, I 'm away, like a thing that is wild,
With heart full of glee, as the heart of a child!
Afar o'er the mountains, afar o'er the stream,
To revel in joy 'mid the glad summer beam.
I leave care behind me, I throw to the wind
All sorrows allied to the earth-plodding mind;
The music of birds and the murmur of rills,
Shall be my companions o'er Scotia's loved hills.
How