I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
While the tear stood twinklin in her ee;
I said, My lassie, dinna cry,

For ye ay shall mak the bed to me.'

She took her mither's Holland sheets,
And made them a' in sarks to me:
Blythe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me.

The bonnie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me:

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me!

THE UNION.

TUNE SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION.'

FAREWEEL to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory!
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd' in martial story!
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands;
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

VAR. kend.

This song occurs in Johnson's Museum, but without Burns' name. This copy has been collated with one in his autograph.

What guile or force could not subdue,
Through many warlike ages,

Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station,

But English gold has been our bane;
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour
I'll mak this declaration,2

We're bought and sold for English gold:
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS.

THERE was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnie lass,

And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear;

Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms, Wi' monie a sigh and tear.

VAR. 2 I'll breathe this exclamation.

This song is in Johnson's Museum, with Burns' name attached to it.

Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly

roar,

He still was a stranger to fear :

And nocht could him quell, or his bosom assail, But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear.

MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY. +

TUNE-HIGHLANDER'S LAMENT.'

My Harry was a gallant gay,

Fu' stately strade he on the plain !
But now he's banish'd far away,
I'll never see him back again.

CHORUS.

O for him back again,

O for him back again,

I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land,
For Highland Harry back again.

†This song occurs in the Museum, but without Burns' name. "The oldest title," says Burns," I ever heard to this air was The Highland Watch's Farewell to Ireland.' The chorus I picked up from an old woman in Dunblane; the rest of the song is mine." The Highland Watch, is the gallant 42nd regiment, and Highland Harry, Prince Henry Stuart, the last male of the royal house.

When a' the lave gae to their bed,
I wander dowie up the glen ;
I sit me down and greet my fill,
And ay I wish him back again.
O for him, &c.

O were some villains hangit high,
And ilka body had their ain,
Then I might see the joyfu' sight,
My Highland Harry back again!
O for him, &c.

TIBBIE DUNBAR.‡

TUNE JOHNNY M'GILL.'

O WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car,
Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar?
I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money,
I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly :
But say thou wilt hae me for better for waur,
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar.

This is also in the Museum, and is there said to have been written for that work by Burns.

WEE WILLIE.+

WEE Willie Gray, and his leather wallet;
Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket:
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and

doublet,

The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet!

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet;

Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat; Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet, Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.

This song is in the Musical Museum, p. 530, and is there said to have been written, for that work, by Burns

* Burns wrote to Thomson, April, 1793: "There is one sentimental song of mine in the Museum, which never was known out of the immediate neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a country girl's singing. It is called Craigieburn Wood;' and in the opinion of Mr. Clarke is one of our sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an enthusiast about it; and I would take his taste in Scottish music against the taste of most connoisseurs."

On the 19th October, 1794, he wrote, " I hope Clarke will persuade you to adopt my favourite, Craigie-burnwood' in your selection: it is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and, in fact (entre nous), is in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him-a mistress, a friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaiver about it among