He struck at the lady, but strange though it seem,
His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream;
But the groans from the boat, that ascended amain,
Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain.
They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away -
Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye!

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.

[In the title and chorus of this favorite pastoral song, I choose rather to violate a rule in grammar, than a Scottish phrase so common that when it is altered into the proper way, every shepherd and shepherd's sweetheart account it nonsense. I was once singing it at a wedding with great glee the latter way ("when the kye come hame”) when a tailor, scratching his head, said, “It was a terrible affectit way that!" I stood corrected, and have never sung it so again. - HOGG.]

THE VILLAGE OF BALMAQUHAPPLE,

D'YE ken the big village of Balmaquhapple,
The great muckle village of Balmaquhapple?
'Tis steeped in iniquity up to the thrapple,
An' what's to become o' poor Balmaquhapple?

Fling a' aff your bannets, an' kneel for your life, fo'ks,
And pray to St. Andrew, the god o' the Fife fo'ks;
Gar a' the hills yout wi' sheer vociferation,
And thus you may cry on sic needfu' occasion;

"Oh, blessed St. Andrew, if e'er ye could pity fo'k,
Men fo'k or women fo'k, country or city fo'k,
Come for this aince wi' the auld thief to grapple,
An' save the great village of Balmaquhapple
Fra drinking an' leeing, an' flyting an' swearing,
An' sins that ye wad be affrontit at hearing,

An' cheating an' stealing; oh, grant them redemption,
All save an' except the few after to mention :

"There's Johnny the elder, wha hopes ne'er to need ye,
Sae pawkie, sae holy, sae gruff, an' sae greedy;
Wha prays every hour as the wayfarer passes,
But aye at a hole where he watches the lasses;
He's cheated a thousand, an' e'en to this day yet
Can cheat a young lass, or they're leears that say it.
Then gie him his gate: he's sae slee an' sae civil,
Perhaps in the end he may wheedle the devil.

"There's Cappie the cobbler, an' Tammie the tinman,
An' Dickie the brewer, an' Peter the skinman,
An' Geordie our deacon, for want of a better,
An' Bess, wha delights in the sins that beset her.
Oh, worthy St. Andrew, we canna compel ye,
But
ye ken as weel as a body can tell ye,
If these gang to heaven, we'll a' be sae shockit,
Your garret o' blue will but thinly be stockit.

"But for a' the rest, for the women's sake save themTheir bodies at least, an' their sauls if they have them;

But it puzzles Jock Lesly, an' sma' it avails,

If they dwell in their stommacks, their heads, or their tails,

An' save, without word of confession auricular,

The clerk's bonny daughters, an' Bell in particular;

For ye ken that their beauty's the pride an' the staple

Of the great wicked village of Balmaquhapple!"