THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. [The poet found this title in a collection of music by Oswald, made himself master of the air, and composed the following tender verses, bearing reference to the disastrous field of butchery at Culloden in 1746. From the days of Cromek, who first commented on the song, down to the latest editions of the poet, we find it intimated that he "took the idea of it from the first half verse, which is all that remains of the old song." Now it is very remarkable that not one of those who have told us this, with such constant reiteration, has ever mentioned where this old verse is to be found; for not even Peter Buchan, who could whip you up a genuine antique at an hour's notice, has ventured to hint any knowledge that an older version than the present everexisted. Cromek has pronounced it to be "Burns' most successful imitation of the old style"better, therefore, than Auld Langsyne and The Silver Tassie, in reference to which he remarks thus:-"That Burns passed some of these as the popular currency of other years is well known, though only discovered from the variations which his papers contain. He scattered these samples, to be picked up by inquisitive criticism, that he might listen to its remarks, and, perhaps, secretly enjoy the admiration which they excited." At the time Cromek ventured these observations, Allan Cunningham was at his elbow; and certainly the remarks do forcibly apply to him, and his attempts to pass off" as the popular currency of other years," through the medium of Cromek's book, many a piece of blubbering sentiment which Burns' manly soul would have abhorred. Allan afterwards expressed penitence for those frauds, pleading extreme youth and its attendant thoughtlessness as his excuse; but, in one of his pages, produced when his haffets were grey, we find him raking up the old rubbish, and in reference to this very production of Burns', saying as follows:-"Another song, on the same subject, has found its way into our collections. The following is a verse: 'As I cam' in by Inverness, the simmer sun was sinking down; And there I met a weel-faur'd lass, and she was greeting through the town. The grey-hair'd men were a' i' the streets, and old dames crying-sad to see! The flower o' the lads of Inverness, lie bluidy on Culloden lea.'"] THE lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou has made sair, That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! A RED, RED ROSE. [This sweet song, truly in the ancient style, and as truly Burns' own, every line, has produced a rush of "traditioners" who pretend to treat us with what they call"the old words;" but really, "Rhymin' Watty," with his coat of many colours, who will be remembered by some of our older Edinburgh readers, could have improvised for a whole hour by St. Giles' clock, better verses to the same text than these lovers of tradition have been at the pains to invent or transcribe, and editors to print. The song in the Museum has Burns' name attached to it, and is set to two different airs, but neither of these have satisfied the public, who, by common consent, sing it to the tune of "Low down he's in the broom," which fits it charmingly.] O MY luve's like a red, red rose As fair art thou, my bonie lass, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And fare-thee-weel, my only luve! Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile! O my luve's like a red, red rose That's sweetly play'd in tune. A LASSIE ALL ALONE. TUNE-Cumnock Psalms. [The "roofless tower" of this noble ballad is well understood to have been the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, a favourite haunt of Burns during his latter years in Dumfries. His eldest son, Robert, had a very distinct recollection of his father's strolls in that direction, when he was a boy of six or seven, led by the minstrel's hand, and the sole witness of his musings. The abbey and church are built on a piece of rising ground commanding a fine prospect, in the angle between the junction of the Cluden and the Nith. Dr. Currie, from the MSS. of the poet, printed this ballad under the title of "A VISION," the chorus being omitted, and the fifth verse somewhat varied, and followed by a fresh stanza of great beauty. In our text, that stanza is inserted in its place within brackets, to avoid the interruption of a foot-note. Allan Ramsay has a poem called The Vision, in the same measure as the Epistle to Davie of Burns, many parts of which are transcendently beautiful; yet we cannot trace in the present poem any resemblance to it, beyond the effort in both to pay a true minstrel's tribute to LIBERTY. We are inclined to think rather, that Burns' model for the present poem was the ballad commencing "Keen blaws the wind frae Donocht Head," published in Johnson's Museum in 1792, and praised so highly by Burns in his letter to Thomson, dated 19th Oct., 1794. "Ten pounds" was the value he set on that unfinished strain, and here we seem to have the real finish of it. Captain Charles Gray supplied four lines as a closing stanza for "Donocht Head," but his idea is evidently derived from the present poem by Burns. The Captain's addendum is as follows: "Ance mair the minstrel waked a strain, Nae merry lilt, but sad and slow; In fancy's ear it seem'd to wail A free-born nation's overthrow."] As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, CHORUS. A lassie all alone was making her moan, In the bluidy wars they fa' and our honor's gane and a', The winds were laid, the air was still, The tod was howling on the hill, And the distant echoing glens reply. The burn, adown its hazelly path, The cauld blae north was streaming forth Now, looking over firth and fauld, [Had I a statue been o' stane, His darin' look had daunted me; And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, The sacred posy-' Libertie!'] And frae his harp sic strains did flow, Might rous'd the slumbering Dead to hear; But, oh! it was a tale of woe, As ever met a Briton's ear. He sang wi' joy his former day, Var.-By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes. O GIN YE WERE DEAD, GUDEMAN. [This is part of an old ditty supposed to be sung by a virago who is very anxious to wear a widow's cap for three days, and then set fire to it. It has its counterpart in another song, commencing "O gin I were fairly shot of her, If she were dead I would dance on the top of her." The first verse was amended by Burns, and the latter one wholly supplied by him. The air is much admired, and, with a slight alteration, has been set to Burns' words, "There was a lad was born in Kyle."] CHORUS. O'an ye were dead, gudeman— Upon a rantin Highlandman. THERE'S sax eggs in the pan, gudeman, A sheep-head's in the pot, gudeman, Sing, round about the fire wi' a rung she ran, |