Lanely night comes on, A' the house are sleeping, That has my heart a keeping. When I sleep I dream, When I wauk I'm eirie; Sleep I canna get, For thinkin' o' my dearie. Lanely night comes on, A' the house are sleeping, I think on my bonie lad, An I bleer my een wi' greetin! Ay wauken, O, wauken ay and wearie! STANZA OF AN OLD SONG. Tune-BONNIE DUNDee. Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, An' ye'll crack your credit wi' mae than me. AMONG the MS. papers of Burns, that fell into the hands of the Editor, was one containing memoranda of Songs that he intended to illustrate with his remarks. In the number are noticed the fine ballad of Donocht Head,' and also the ballad of Watty and Meg.' As the first is but little known in England, and the other not known at all, though it is so popular in Scotland, the Editor avails himself of the present opportunity to present them to his readers. DONOCHT-HEAD. Tune-GORDON CASTLE. Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Head,* The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale, The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck, And shivering tells his waefu' tale. "Cauld is the night, O let me in, "Be naething but a wreath o' snaw! "Full ninety winters hae I seen, "And pip'd where gor-cocks whirring flew, My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet! O haith, it's doubly dear to me ! Ye should na stray sae far frae hame. "Nae hame have I," the minstrel said, "Sad party strife o'erturn'd my ha'; "And, weeping at the eve o' life, "I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw." * This affecting poem was long attributed to Burns. He thus remarks on it. "Donocht-Head is not mine: I would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald ; and came to the editor of that paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it." WATTY AND MEG. THE reader is here presented with an exquisite picture from low life, drawn with all the fidelity and exactness of Teniers, or Ostade, and enlivened with the humour of Hogarth. The story excites as much interest as if it had been written in a dramatic form, and really represented. The interest heightens as it proceeds, and is supported with wonderful spirit to the close of the poem. It must have been in no small degree gratifying to the feelings of the author, who published it anonymously, that during a rapid sale of seven or eight editions, the public universally ascribed it to the pen of Burns. The author of Will and Jean,' or 'Scotland's Scaith," had the candour to acknow ledge to the Editor that he was indebted to this exquisite poem for the foundation of that popular performance. |