The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,
But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.
And maun I still, &c.

The wanton coot1 the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And everything is blest but I.
And maun I still, &c.

2

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorland whistles shrill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step
I meet him on the dewy hill.

And maun I still, &c.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering3 wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.
And maun I still, &c.

Come Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!

And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be.

HIGHLAND MARY.

TUNE-"KATHARINE OGIE."

YE banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie !5

3 Trembling.

1 Water-fowl. 2 Shuts the gate of the fold. 4 The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner. You will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still growing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition.-R. B.

5 Muddy.

AULD LANG SYNE.

There simmer first unfald her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours, on angel wings,
dearie;
Flew o'er me and my

For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

AULD LANG SYNE.1

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

CHORUS.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup of kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

1 An old song into which Burns threw some of his own fire.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wandered mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
From mornin sun till dine ;

But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,1
And gie 's a band o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught,2
For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.3

BANNOCKBURN.4

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

TUNE-"HEY TUTTIE, TAITIE."

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victorie.

1 Friend.

2 Draught.

3 Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the world! They spoil these "social offsprings of the heart." Two veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little more heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang syne," exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which ha often thrilled through my soul; I shall give you the verses in the other sheet. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment!-To Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 17, 1788; and to Mr. Thomson, September, 1793 :--The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air.

4 A friend had got a grey Highland shelty" for Burns, and he made a little excursion on it into Galloway. He was particularly struck with the scenery round Kenmore. From that place he and his companion took the Moorroad to Gatehouse, the dreary country being lighted up by frequent gleams

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour:

See approach proud Edward's pow'r-
Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee ?

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Caledonian! on wi' me!

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall-they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward let us do, or die!1

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

TUNE "THE AULD WIFE AYONT THE FIRE."

WHERE Cart rins rowin2 to the sea,
By monie a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

of a thunderstorm, which soon poured down a flood of rain. Burns spoke not a word. "What do you think he was about ?" asked his fellowtraveller, relating the adventure. "He was charging the English army along with Bruce at Bannockburn. He was engaged in the same manner on our ride home from St. Mary's Isle. I did not disturb him. Next day he produced the following address of Bruce to his troops."-Mr. SYME, quoted by Currie, i. 211.

1 Independent of my enthusiasm as a Scotchman, I have rarely met with anything in history which interests my feelings as a man equal with the story of Bannockburn. On the one hand, a cruel but able usurper leading on the finest army in Europe to extinguish the last spark of freedom among a greatly daring and greatly-injured people; on the other hand, the desperate relics of a gallant nation, devoting themselves to rescue their bleeding country, or to perish with her.-BURNS to Earl of Buchan, Jan. 12, 1794.

2 Rolling.

Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,'
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers:
While bees rejoice in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

SONG.

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair,
To hope may be forgiven;
For, sure, 'twere impious to despair
So much in sight of heaven.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-grey,2 and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that.

1 Marriage bond.

2 Coarse woollen cloth.