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'Alas! my poor brother come dry the big tear: Avon we'll have vengeance for theſe dreadful laſhe Already the ſcreech-owl and raven appear. By day the green graze that lies under the willow, With wild flowers I'll ſtrew and by night make a pillow, Till the ooze and dark fex-wced, beacath the curl billow, Shall furniſh a death bed, for Mary le More.

Thus ravid the poor Maniac in tones more heart-ening, Than fainty's voice ever pour'd on my ear, When lo! on the waſte, and their march towards l bending. A troop of fierce cavalry chanc'd to appear.' O the fiends ſhe exclaim'd; and with wild horn ſtarted, Then thro' the tall fern, loudly ſcreaming, ſhe darted With an over-charg'd bosom I ſlowly departed, And ſigh'd for the wrongs of poor Mary le More.

Highland Laddie.

Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland Laddie gone, Oh where, tell me where is your Highland Laddie gone, He is gone with ſtreaming banners, where noble deeds are done, And its oh in my heart, but I with him ſafe at home.

O what, tell me what, did your Highland Ladd wear? O what, tell me what, &c?