Thou, who thy honour as thy God rever’st, Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nought earthly fear’st, To thee this votive offering I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The Friend thou valued’st, I, the Patron lov’d; His worth, his honour, all the world approved: We’ll mourn till we too go as he has gone, And tread the shadowy path to that dark world unknown. Craigieburn Wood Sweet closes the ev’ning on Craigieburn Wood, And blythely awaukens the morrow; But the pride o’ the spring in the Craigieburn Wood Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. Chorus.—Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, And O to be lying beyond thee! O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep That’s laid in the bed beyond thee! I see the spreading leaves and flowers, I hear the wild birds singing; But pleasure they hae nane for me, While care my heart is wringing. Beyond thee, &c. I can na tell, I maun na tell, I daur na for your anger; But secret love will break my heart, If I conceal it langer. Beyond thee, &c. I see thee gracefu’, straight and tall, I see thee sweet and bonie; But oh, what will my torment be, If thou refuse thy Johnie! Beyond thee, &c. To see thee in another’s arms, In love to lie and languish, ’Twad be my dead, that will be seen, My heart wad burst wi’ anguish. Beyond thee, &c. But Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, Say thou lo’es nane before me; And a’ may days o’ life to come I’l gratefully adore thee, Beyond thee, &c. The Bonie Wee Thing Chorus.—Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel it should tine. Wishfully I look and languish In that bonie face o’ thine, And my heart it stounds wi’ anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine. Bonie wee thing, &c. Wit, and Grace, and Love, and Beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my duty, Goddess o’ this soul o’ mine! Bonie wee thing, &c. Epigram On Miss Davies On being asked why she had been formed so little, and Mrs. A—so big. Ask why God made the gem so small? And why so huge the granite?— Because God meant mankind should set That higher value on it. The Charms Of Lovely Davies Tune—“Miss Muir.” O how shall I, unskilfu’, try The poet’s occupation? The tunefu’ powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration; Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o’ lovely Davies.