he change for blisses such as these!
Sweet the rising mountains, red with heather bells,
Sweet the bubbling fountains and the dewy dells,
Sweet the snowy blossom of the thorny tree,
Sweeter is young Mary of Glensmole to me.

EVAN M'COLL.[16]

FOOTNOTES:

[16] For Biographical Sketch, see p. 222.

THE CHILD OF PROMISE.

She died--as die the roses
On the ruddy clouds of dawn,
When the envious sun discloses
His flame, and morning 's gone.

She died--like waves of sun-glow
Fast by the shadows chased:
She died--like heaven's rainbow
By gushing showers effaced.

She died--like flakes appearing
On the shore beside the sea;
Thy snow as bright! but, nearing,
The ground-swell broke on thee.

She died--as dies the glory
Of music's sweetest swell:
She died--as dies the story
When the best is still to tell.

She died--as dies moon-beaming
When scowls the rayless wave:
She died--like sweetest dreaming,
That hastens to its grave.

She died--and died she early:
Heaven wearied for its own.
As the dipping sun, my Mary,
Thy morning ray went down!

INDEX

TO THE

FIRST LINES OF THE SONGS.

A bonnie rose bloom'd wild and fair, vol. iv., 112.

Adieu--a long and last adieu, vol. iii., 207.

Adieu, lovely summer, I see thee declining, vol. i., 273.

Adieu, romantic banks of Clyde, vol. iii., 30.

Adieu, ye streams that smoothly glide, vol. i., 42.

Adieu, ye wither'd flow'rets, vol. iv., 207.

Admiring nature's simple charms, vol. ii., 239.

Ah! do not bid me wake the lute, vol. ii., 283.

Adown the burnie's flowery bank, vol. ii., 227.

Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out, vol. i., 118.

Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, vol. iii., 31.

Ah! faded is that lovely bloom, vol. ii., 276.

Afar from the home where his youthful prime, vol. vi., 165.

Afore the Lammas tide, vol. iv., 197.

Afore the muircock begin to craw, vol. ii., 67.

Again the laverock seeks the sky, vol. v., 82.

Ages, ages have departed, vol. i., 258.

A health to Caberfae, vol. i., 357.

Alake for the lassie! she's no right at a', vol. ii., 317.

A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen, vol. ii., 184.

Alas! how true the boding voice, vol. v., 87.

Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, vol. i., 300.

Ah! little did my mother think, vol. i., 234.

A lively yo