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Her skin was white as virgin snaw,
 Her cheeks excell’d the roses red;
But O! her mouth’s beyond compare,
 Sae muckle sweetness there lies hid.
  Blythe, blythe, &c.

Let bards describe bright Juno’s charms,
 Or Venus rising from the sea;
But my delight’s to sing the praise
 Of Mary with the sparkling e’e.

Blythe, blythe and merry was I,
 Blyther than the maist of men;
Now, alas! I've lost my heart
 Amang the groves of Torrance-glen.

 

———o———

 

SCOTCH WHISKIE.

(Tune—Push about the Jorum.)

Ye social sons of Scotland’s isle,
 Who love to rant and roar, Sir,
To drink, to dance, to laugh and sing,
 And hickup out encore, Sir,
Attend and listen to my lay,
 ’twill make you blythe and frisky,
I’ll sing (who dare my theme despise?)
 The praise of good Scotch Whiskie.

And O my chearing, care-dispelling,
 Heart-reviving Whiskie!