SONG.

Now bank an' brae are claith'd in green,
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring,
By Girvan's fairy haunted stream
The birdies flit on wanton wing.
To Cassillis' banks when e'ening fa's,
There wi' my Mary let me flee,
There catch her ilka glance of love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e!

The child wha boasts o' warld's walth,
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain,

Ah, fortune canna gie me mair!
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks,
Wi' her the lassie dear to me,
And catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e!

THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA.

O how can I be blythe and glad,

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa?

It's no the frosty winter wind,

It's no the driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa.

My father pat me frae his door,

My friends they hae disown'd me a';But I hae ane will tak my part, The bonnie lad that's far awa.

A pair o' gloves he gave to me,

And silken snoods he gave me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,

The bonnie lad that's far awa.

The weary winter soon will pass,
And spring will eleed the birken-shaw;
And my sweet babie will be born,
And he'll come hame that's far awat.

SONG+.

Out over the Forth I look to the north,
But what is the north and its Highlands to me?
The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,
The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
For far in the west lives he I lo'e best,

The lad that is dear to my babie and me.

Ribbands for binding the hair.

I have heard the country girls, in the Merse and Teviotdale, sing a song, the first stanza of which greatly resembles the opening of this.

O how can I be blythe or glad,
Or in my mind contented be,
When he's far aff that I love best,
And banish'd frae my company.

E.

Of this exquisite ballad the last verse only is printed in Dr. Currie's edition.-He did not know that the opening stanza existed.

LINES ON A PLOUGHMAN.

As I was a wandering ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing,
And as he was singin' thir words he did say,
There's nae life like the ploughman in the month
o' sweet May.

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest,

And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast*, And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing,

And at night she'll return to her nest back again.

I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN.

I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And by yon garden green, again;

I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And see my bonnie Jean again.

There's nane sall ken, there's nane sall guess,
What brings me back the gate again,

* It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy which show the sons of genius to be of one kindred. In the following passage, from the poem of his countryman, the same figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity; and never were the tender and the sublime of poetry more happily united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the memory of Burns.

"Thou, simple bird,

Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home
The humblest; yet thy morning song ascends
Nearest to Heaven;-sweet emblem of his songt,
Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side!
Grahame's Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 4,

+ Burns.

But she my fairest, faithfu' lass,

And stownlins* we sall meet again.

She'll wander by the aiken tree,

When trystin-timet draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
O haith, she's doubly dear again!

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.

First when Maggy was my care,
Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
Now we're married-spier nae mair-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child-
-Wiser men than me's beguil'd;

Whistle o'er the lave o'ts

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see;

Whistle o'er the lave o't.

Wha I wish were maggot's meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

Young Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa;

Stownlins-By stealth.

†Tryssin-time-The time of appointment.

Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud*,
Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'!
He roos'd my e'en sae bonnie blue,

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma;
An' aye my heart came to my mou,
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw; And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
An' aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';
An' aye he vows he'll be my ain
As lang's he has breath to draw.

MCPHERSON'S FAREWEL.

Farewel ye dungeons, dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
M'Pherson's time will not be long,
On yonder gallows tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?―
On mony a bloody plain

I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off

my handst,

And bring to me my sword;

*The gaud-at the plough.

+ See the 2d verse of the ballad of Hughie Gra

ham, p. 201.