Air—Burns's "The Farewell."
It was a' for our Glorious Cause
I sought fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for fair, rightfu' laws
To bless the Irish land,
My dear;
To bless the Irish land.
Now a' is done that man could do,
And a' seems done in vain,
My loved Midlothian, farewell,
I mauna stand again,
My dear;
I canna stand again.
For fifteen lang an' happy years,
That ne'er may be forgot,
We have foregathered, loved, and fought.
Fare farther I may not,
My dear;
Fare farther may I not.
Yet say not that our love has failed,
Or that our battle's lost;
Were I yet young I'd fight again,
And never count the cost,
My dear;
And never count the cost.
Tegither we've won mony a fight,
You following where I led;
But now late Winter's chilling snows
Are gatherin' round my head,
My dear;
Are gatherin' round my head.
And times will change, and Chieftains pass.
Lang time I've borne the brunt
Of war; and now I'm glad to see
Carmichael to the front,
My dear;
Sir Tammy to the front.
A champion stout, I mak nae doubt,
He'll carry on my task.
To see ye braw and doing weel,
Henceforth is a' I ask.
My dear;
Henceforth is a' I ask.
True Scot am I—Midlothian's heart
I won. Now I fare far,
And leave a younger chieftain, Tam,
To lead the Lowland war,
My dear;
To lead the Lowland war!
He turned him right and round about
Upon the Scottish shore.
He gae his bonnet plume a shake,
With "Adieu for evermore,
My dear;
Adieu for evermore!
"Rosebery will from fight return,
Wi' loss or else wi' gain;
But I am parted from my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear;
Never to meet again.
"When day is gone, and night is come,
A' folk are fain to rest;
I'll think on thee, though far awa',
While pulse throbs in this breast,
My dear;
While pulse throbs in my breast!"
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Smith, Elder & Co. are carrying out a happy thought in projecting what they call the Novel Series, a title which is the least felicitous part of the business. It is designed to meet the views of those who desire to possess, not to borrow (or indeed to steal) good books. The volumes will not be too large to be carried in the pocket, nor too small to lie on the shelf. Neatly bound, admirably printed, they are to cost from two shillings up to four shillings, presumably according to length and the inclusion of illustrations. The series leads off with The Story of Bessie Costrell, by Mrs. Humphry Ward. The story, if not precisely pleasant, is decidedly powerful. Once taken up, there is uncontrollable disposition to read on to the end, a yearning the size of the volume makes it possible conveniently to satisfy. The new series starts with a promise announcements of succeeding contributions seem likely to fulfil.
The Baron de Book-Worms.