I left the lines and tented field, A leal, light heart was in my breast, I thought upon the banks o' Coil, At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, I've serv'd my King and Country lang- Sae wistfully she gaz’d on me, And lovelier was than ever: That gallant badge, the dear cockade, She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose- She sank within my arms and cried, 1 Then. "By Him who made yon sun and sky, "The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame And come, my faithful sodger lad, For gold the merchant ploughs the main, MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.2 TUNE "THE WEAVER AND HIS SHUTTLE, O." My Father was a Farmer, upon the Carrick border, O, For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O. Then out into the world my course I did determine, O ; Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, 0: My talents they were not the worst; nor yet my education, O; Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation, O. 1 Farm. 2 The following song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification; but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over.-R. B. Mr. Cunningham found traces of the poet's early history in these lines. In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O; Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O: Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; sometimes by friends forsaken. O; And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O. Then, sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O; I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O: The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untried, O; But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O. No help, nor hope, nor view had I; nor person to befriend me, 0; So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O. To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my early, O; father bred me For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune, fairly, O. Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O; Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O; No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, 0. But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O; Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O; I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O; But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard When sometimes by my labour, I earn a little money, O, Some unforeseen misfortune comes gen'rally upon me, O Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, O; But come what will, I've sworn it, still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. BB All you who follow wealth and power, with unremitting ardour, O, The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O: Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O, A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O. A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. FATE TUNE-" FINLAYSTON HOUSE." gave the word, the arrow sped, By cruel hands the sapling drops, The mother-linnet in the brake BONNIE LESLEY.1 TUNE "THE COLLIER'S BONNIE DOCHTER." O SAW ye bonnie Lesley, As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For Nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither! 1 Miss Lesley Balie. The ballad was composed by Burns after spending & day with the lady' family, then on their way to England. Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The Deil he could na scaith thee, And say, 66 The Powers aboon will tent thee: Return again, Fair Lesley, That we may brag, we hae a lass AMANG THE TREES. TUNE "THE KING OF FRANCE, HE HAD A RACE." AMANG the trees, where humming bees Their capon craws and queer ha, ha's, |