Though siller Tweed rin o'er the lea, An' dark the Dee 'mang Highland heather, Yet siller Tweed an' drumly Dee Are not sae dear as Leven Water: When Nature form'd our favourite isle, An' a' her sweets began to scatter, She look'd with fond approving smile, Alang the banks o' Leven Water. On flowery braes, at gloamin' gray, 'Tis sweet to scent the primrose springin'; Or through the woodlands green to stray, In ilka buss the mavis singin': But sweeter than the woodlands green, Or primrose painted fair by Nature, Is she wha smiles, a rural queen, The bonny lass o' Leven Water! The sunbeam in the siller dew, That hangs upon the hawthorn's blossom, Shines faint beside her e'en sae blue; An' purer is her spotless bosom. Her smile wad thaw a hermit's breast; There 's love an' truth in ilka feature; For her I 'm past baith wark an' rest, The bonny lass o' Leven Water! But I 'm a lad o' laigh degree, Her purse-proud daddy 's dour an' saucy; An' sair the carle wad scowl on me, For speakin' to his dawtit lassie: But were I laird o' Leven's glen, An' she a humble shepherd's daughter, I 'd kneel, an' court her for my ain, The bonny lass o' Leven Water! SLIGHTED LOVE. The rosebud blushing to the morn, The sna'-white flower that scents the thorn, When on thy gentle bosom worn, Were ne'er sae fair as thee, Mary! How blest was I, a little while, To deem that bosom free frae guile; When, fondly sighing, thou wouldst smile; Yes, sweetly smile on me, Mary! Though gear was scant, an' friends were few, My heart was leal, my love was true; I blest your e'en of heavenly blue, That glanced sae saft on me, Mary! But wealth has won your heart frae me; Yet I maun ever think of thee; May a' the bliss that gowd can gie, For ever wait on thee, Mary! For me, nae mair on earth I crave, But that yon drooping willow wave Its branches o'er my early grave, Forgot by love, an' thee, Mary! An' when that hallow'd spot you tread, Where wild-flowers bloom above my head, O look not on my grassy bed, Lest thou shouldst sigh for me, Mary! GEORGE MACINDOE.