Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' of her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet; Her voice is low and sweet, And she's a' the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee. RULE BRITANNIA JAMES THOMSON When Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land, And guardian angels sang the strain: Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves! The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free-- The dread and envy of them all! Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the last blast which tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair; Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the fair:-- Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves! WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY ANONYMOUS O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae. I lean'd my back unto an aik, And thought it was a trusty tree, But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lightly me. O waly, waly, but love is bonny, A little time while it is new, But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew. Oh! wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair. Now Arthur Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fil'd by me, Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? Oh, gentle death! when wilt thou come? For of my life I am weary. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blowing snow's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie. But had I wist before I kiss'd That love had been so ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, And pinn'd it with a silver pin. And oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel' were dead and gane, Wi' the green grass growin' over me! SALLY IN OUR ALLEY