Richard Gall

Flow saftly, thou stream, through the wild spangled valley;
Oh green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair!
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Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew;
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
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How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning!
How fair ilka object that lives in the view!
Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning,
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I winna gang back to my mammy again,
I 'll never gae back to my mammy again;
I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
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Can ought be constant as the sun,
That makes the world sae cheerie?
Yes, a' the powers can witness be,
The love I bear my dearie.
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Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue,
My only jo an' dearie, O;
Thy neck is like the siller dew
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IRISH AIR--_'The Brown Maid.'_

The Bard strikes his harp the wild valleys amang,
Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear;
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Now bank an' brae are clad in green,
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring;
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream,
The birdies flit on wanton wing;
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Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down,
Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom,
How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light,
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The daisy-flower may blaw unseen
On mountain-tap -- in valley green!
The rose alane, in native sheen,
Its head may raise!
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