LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
MY NANNIE 'S AWA. 
Tune—“ There'll never be leacel &*c. 
Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it’s delightless—my Nannie’s awa. 
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o’ the morn; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mindAne o’ Nannie—and Nannie’s awa. 
Thou lav’rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o’ the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa’, 
Give over for pity—my Nannie’s awa. 
Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey. 
And sooth me wi’ tidings o’ Nature’s decay; 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me—now Nannie’s awa. 
Burns. 
THEIR GROVES, &c. 
Tune—“ Humours of Glen." 
Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon. 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ; 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, 
Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen; 
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 
Burns. 
