THE MAID OF PINMORE. WHILE flocks on the mountains were nibbling the blue bells, At sunset to see, from the blue rillet springing, As cheerful I've roam'd, as the birds that were singing, Or when the crack'd pane in the roof of the cabin The icicles hung, as he hopp'd on the green; In rainbow-hued plaidy, and blue bonnet dress'd, My heart light as clouds cross the blue welkin bore; Deep glens and wild hills intervening, I've pass'd, To greet in her cottage the Maid of Pinmore. Thus life's morning rose, ere regardless of danger, Ere I saw British blood stain the soil of the stranger, But if life warms my heart till the conflict is over, I hope yet to meet with, still true to her lover, On Stinchar's green banks, the sweet Maid of Pinmore. THE GRAMPIAN GLENS. CHEERFULLY I Wont to wander Whar the spreading birks are seen There, upo' yon brae sae grassy, Ca'd me aft the bonniest lassy Though it was my minnie's banter, Striving aye to danton me, That the wild wood trees in winter Cou'dna barer be than he. That I could be happy wi' him, Ilka power aboon us kens; For nae laddie I wad gie him That e'er trod the Grampian Glens. But the feather-busked bonnet, To the war, Ah! wae be on it! An' I fear again thegithir We'll ne'er tread the Grampian Glens. THE SPIRITS OF THE WIND. A BACCHANALIAN SONG. HEAR the Spirits of the Wind, How they round the chimney howl! But the hurricane ne'er mind, Landlord, fill another bowl; As they through the reel are tost, |