The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, But, lady, they are said in vain.

By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, Most foully slain I fell;

And my restless sprite on the beacon's height For a space is doomed to dwell.

At our trysting-place, for a certain space,
I must wander to and fro;

But I had not had power to come to thy bower,
Hadst thou not conjured me so."

Love mastered fear-her brow she crossed:
"How, Richard, hast thou sped?
And art thou saved, or art thou lost?"
The Vision shook his head!

"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;
So bid thy lord believe:
That lawless love is guilt above,
This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam;
His right upon her hand:

The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,

For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score, of fingers four,
Remains on that board impressed;
And for evermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,
Ne'er looks upon the sun;
There is a monk in Melrose tower,
He speaketh word to none.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,
That monk, who speaks to none-
That nun was Smaylho'me's lady gay,
That monk the bold Baron.

WILLIE AND HELEN.

HUGH AINSLIE.

"WHAIRFORE sou'd ye tauk o' love,
Unless it be to pain us?

Oh! whairfore sou'd ye tauk o' love,
When ye say the sea maun twain us?"

"It's no because my love is licht,
Nor for your angry daddie;
It's a' to buy ye pearlins bricht,
And busk ye like a leddie."

"Oh, Willie! I can card and spin,
Sae ne'er can want for cleedin;
And gin I hae my Willie's heart,
I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin.

Will it be time to praise this cheek,

When years and tears have blencht it? Will it be time to tauk o' love,

When cauld and care have quencht it?"

He's laid ae band about her waist,
The other's held to heaven;
And his luik was like the luik o' man,
Whase heart in twa is riven.

The auld carle o' Knockdon is deid;
There's few for him will sorrow,
For Willie's stappit in his stead,
But and his comely marrow.

There's a cozie beild at yon burn-fit,
Wi' a bourtree at the en' o't-
Oh, many a day may it see yet,
Ere care or canker ken o't.

The lilie leans out ower the brae,
And the rose leans ower the lilie-
And there the bonnie twasome lay,
Fair Helen and her Willie.*

* Copied from a volume entitled, "A Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns," published in 1822. Unfortunately for this country, the youthful author chose to east his fate in the Western World, before his talents, which seem to have been of a very high order, had got time to become known or appreciated here. His volume may be recommended as a fine specimen of youthful enthusiasm, and as containing much fine poetry.

INDEX.

PAGE

ABOUT Yule, when the wind blew cule,
A maiden stude in her bouir door,
As I gaed doun by yon house-end,
As it fell out on a summer day,
As I was walking all alane,
As I went forth to take the air,

At Mill o' Tifty lived a man,

137

Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep,

133

Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride,

107

Foul fa' the breist first treason bred in,

55

Four and twenty nobles sits in the king's ha'

343

It fell upon a day, on a bonnie summer day,

92

O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde,

60

OI forbid ye, maidens a',

OI will sing if ye will hearken,
OI will sing to you a sang,
Our lords are to the hunting gane,
O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,
O waly, waly, up yon bank,

O wha wad wish the wind to blaw,
O wha will shoe my bonny foot,

O where have ye been, Lord Randal, my son,
O will ye gae to the schule, billie,

Rise up, rise up, Lord Douglas, she says,
Rob Roy frae the Highlands came,

Some speikis of lords, some speikis of lairds,
Stately stept he east the wa',

Sweet Willie and fair Annie,

269