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Besides, I had frae the great laird,
A peat-pat, and a lang kail-yard,

With a fal, dal, &c.

The maid put on her kirtle brown,
She was the brawest in a' the town;
I wat on him she did na gloom,

But blinkit bonnilie.
The lover he stended up in haste,
And gript her hard about the waste,

With a fal, dal, 8c.

To win your love, maid, I'm come here, I'm young, and hae enough o' gear; And for my sell you need na fear,

Troth try me whan ye like. He took aff his bonnet, and spat in his chew, He dighted his gab, and he pri'd her mou',

With a fal, dal, 8c.

The maiden blusht and bing'd fu’ law,
She had na will to

say
him

na, But to her dady she left it a'

As they twa cou'd agree.
The lover he gae her the tither kiss,
Syne ran to her dady, and telld him this,

With a fal, dal, &c.

Your doghter wad na say me na, But to your sell she has left it a', As we cou'd gree between us twa;

Say what'll ye gi' me wi' her? Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha’e na meikle, But sic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle,

With a fal, dal, &c.

A kilnfu of corn I'll gi'e to thee, Three soums of sheep, twa good milk ky, Ye's ba'e the wadding dinner free;

Troth I dow do na mair. Content, quo' he, a bargain be't, I'm far frae hame, make haste let's do't,

With a fal, dal, &c.

The bridal day it came to pass, Wi' mony a blythsome lad and lass; But sicken a day there never was,

Sic mirth was never seen. This winsome couple straked hands, Mess John tyd up the marriage bands,

With a fal, dal, 8c.

And our bride's maidens were na few, Wi' tap-knots, lug-knots, a' in blew, Frae tap to tae they were braw new,

And blinkit bonnilie.

Their toys and mutches were sae clean,
They glanced in our ladses'

een,
With a fal, dal, 8c.

Sic hirdum, dirdum, and sic din,
Wi' he o'er her, and she o'er him;
The minstrels they did never blin,

Wi' meikle mirth and glee.

With a fal, dal, &c.

THE SMILING PLAINS.

THESE elegant lines were written by poor Falconer,* the author of The Shipwreck.

The smiling plains profusely gay,
Are dress'd in all the pride of May;
The birds on ev'ry spray above

To rapture wake the vocal grove.

• Of Falconer, Burns writes to Mrs. Dunlop, in the following exquisite strain of tenderness. “ Falconer, the unfortunate

author

But ah! Miranda, without thee,
Nor spring nor summer smiles on me;
All lonely in the secret shade,

I mourn thy absence, charming maid!

author of the Shipwreck, that glorious Poem, is no more. After weathering that dreadful catastrophe he so feelingly describes in his Poem, and after weathering many hard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with the Aurora frigate! I forget what part of Scotland had the honor of giving him birth; but he was the son of obscurity and misfortune. He was one of those daring adventurous spirits which old Caledonia, beyond any other nation, is remarkable for producing. Little does the fond mother think, as she havgs delighted over the sweet little leech at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter wander, and what may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old Scots ballad which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, speaks feelingly to the heart

Little did my mother think,

That day she cradleđ me,
What lånd I was to travel in,

Or what death I should die!

In addition to these remarks it will be proper to add, that William Falconer was born in Edinburgh about the year 1730, where his father was a barber. William, at a very early age, went on board a Leith merchantman, in which he served an apprenticeship. In 1769 we find him purser of the Aurora frigate. This vessel sailed for India the same year, and was never more

heard

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O soft as love! as honour fair!
Serenely sweet as vernal air!
Come to my arms; for you alone

Can all my absence past atone.
O come! and to my bleeding heart
The sov'reign balm of love impart;
Thy presence lasting joy shall bring,

And give the year eternal spring.

heard of. Various reports have arisen respecting the fate of the Aurora, which was last heard of at the Cape of Good Hope in December 1769; but the prevalent opinion is, that she took fire at sea in the night-time, and blew up. In his person, Falconer was of the middle-size, sparely made, and with a dark weatherbeaten countenance, marked by the small-pox. No remains of the family are now known to exist in Edinburgh. A sister, who was supposed to be the last surviving, died within these few years in a workhouse there.

Edinburgh Ed. of the Shipwreck, 1807.

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