Old Ballads. Various

      Rock'd in the cradle of the deep,

      I lay me down in peace to sleep;

      Secure, I rest upon the wave,

      For Thou, O Lord, hast pow'r to save.

      I know Thou wilt not slight my call,

      For Thou dost note the sparrow's fall,

      And calm and peaceful is my sleep,

      Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.

      And such the trust that still were mine,

      Tho' stormy winds swept o'er the brine;

      Or though the tempest's fiery breath

      Rous'd me from sleep to wreck and death!

      In ocean cave still safe with Thee,

      The germ of immortality;

      And calm and peaceful is my sleep,

      Rock'd in the cradle of the deep.

      The Minstrel boy to the war is gone,

        In the ranks of death you'll find him;

      His father's sword he has girded on,

        And his wild harp slung behind him.—

      "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard,

        "Though all the world betrays thee,

      One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

        One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

      The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman's chain

        Could not bring his proud soul under;

      The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,

        For he tore its cords asunder;

      And said, "No chains shall sully thee,

        Thou soul of love and bravery!

      Thy songs were made for the brave and free,

        They shall never sound in slavery!"

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        When the sweet Springtime did fall,

      Was the miller's lovely daughter,

        The fairest of them all.

      For his bride a soldier sought her,

        And a winning tongue had he:

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        None so gay as she.

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        When brown Autumn spreads its store,

      Then I saw the miller's daughter,

        But she smiled no more;

      For the Summer grief had brought her,

        And the soldier false was he;

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        None so sad as she.

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        When the Winter snow fell fast,

      Still was seen the miller's daughter,

        Chilling blew the blast.

      But the miller's lovely daughter,

        Both from cold and care was free:

      On the banks of Allan Water,

        There a corpse lay she.

      Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

        And never brought to min'?

      Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

        And days o' auld lang syne?

              CHORUS.

      For auld lang syne, my dear,

        For auld lang syne,

      We'll tak' a cup' o' kindness yet,

        For auld lang syne.

      We twa hae run about the braes,

        And pu'd the gowans fine;

      But we've wandered mony a weary foot

        Sin auld lang syne.

              For auld, etc.

      We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,

        From mornin' sun till dine;

      But seas between us braid hae roar'd

        Sin auld lang syne.

              For auld, etc.

      And here's a hand, my trusty frien',

        And gie's a hand o' thine;

      And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,

        For auld lang syne.

              For auld, etc.

      And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,

        And surely I'll be mine;

      And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

        For auld lang syne.

              For auld, etc.

      'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,

          In the rosy time of the year;

      Sweet flowers bloom'd,

                and the grass was down,

        And each shepherd woo'd his dear.

          Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay,

          Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:

      The lassie blush'd, and frowning cried,

            "No, no, it will not do;

      I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,

                    manna buckle to."

      Jocky was a wag that never would wed,

        Though long he had follow'd the lass:

      Contented she earn'd

                and eat her brown bread,

        And merrily turn'd up the grass.

          Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free,

          Won her heart right merrily:

      Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cried,

            "No, no, it will not do;

      I canna, canna, wonna, wonna,

                    manna buckle to."

      But when he vow'd he would

                make her his bride,

        Though his flocks and herds

                      were not few,

      She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside,

        And vow'd she'd