I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a'

above,

That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er

remuve,

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

MARY'S DREAM.

THE Mary here alluded to is generally supposed to be Miss Mary Macghie, daughter to the Laird of Airds, in Galloway. The poet was a Mr. Alexander Lowe, who likewise wrote another beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost.—I have seen a poetic epistle from him in North America, where he now is, or lately was, to a lady in Scotland.—By the strain of the verses, it appeared that they allude to some love disappointment.

The moon had climb'd the highest hill,
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tow'r and tree :
When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea;
When soft and low a voice was heard,
Saying, Mary weep no more for me.

She from her pillow gently rais'd

Her head to ask, who there might be ; She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, With visage pale and hollow eye; 'O Mary, dear, cold is my clay, 'It lies beneath a stormy sea; Far, far from thee, I sleep in death; So, Mary, weep no more for me.

'Three stormy nights and stormy days 'We toss'd upon the raging main; And long we strove our bark to save,

'But all our striving was in vain.

'E'en then when horror chill'd my blood,

'My heart was fill'd with love for thee:

'The storm is past, and I at rest;

So, Mary, weep no more for me.

'O maiden dear, thyself prepare,

'We soon shall meet upon that shore, 'Where love is free from doubt and care, ' And thou and I shall part no more!' Loud crow'd the cock, the shadows fled, No more of Sandy could she see ; But soft the passing spirit said,

"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

THE JOLLY BEGGAR.

SAID to have been composed by King James,* on a frolic of his own.

There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was boun', And he took up his quarters into a land'art town, And we'll gang nae mair a roving,

Sae late into the night,

And we'll gang nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne'er sae bright!

He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre, But in ahint the ha' door, or else afore the fire, And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

The beggar's bed was made at e'en wi' good clean straw and hay,

And in ahint the ha' door, and there the beggar lay. And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

* This Prince (whose character Dr. Percy thinks for wit and libertinism bears a great resemblance to that of his gay successor Charles II.) was noted for strolling about his dominions in disguise, and for his frequent gallantries with country girls. It is of the present ballad that Mr. Walpole has remarked, there is something very ludicrous in the young woman's distress when she thought her first favours had been thrown away upon a beggar.

Up raise the good man's dochter, and for to bar the

door,

And there she saw the beggar standin i' the floor,

And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran, O hooly, hooly wi' me, sir, ye'll waken our goodman, And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

The beggar was a cunnin loon, and ne'er a word he

spake,

Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack, And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

Is there ony dogs into this town? maiden, tell me true, And what wad ye do wi' them, my hinny and my

They'll rive a' my mealpocks, and do me meikle

wrang,

O dool for the doing o't! are ye the puir man?
And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

Then she took up the mealpocks and flang them o'er

The deil gae wi' the mealpocks, my maidenhead and a',

And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird of

Brodie ;

O dool for the doing o't! are ye the puir bodie?

And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses three,

And four-and-twenty hunder merk to pay the nuricefee,

And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud and shrill,

And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping o'er the hill,

And we'll gang nae mair, &c.

In the course of a most interesting conversation which the Editor had with Mrs. Murray, (married to Dr. Murray, of Bath), authoress of the celebrated song of "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," the present song became the subject of her remark. She observed, "I have been told it was an ancestor of the present Brodie, of Brodie, who is mentioned in this old ballad. That family is one of the oldest and most honourable in the North of Scotland:-The present Laird, whom I have known and respected for many years, falls nothing short in any of the good qualities of his ancestors; and it is a high gratification to me to know that there are many young Brodies to continue the line of that most respectable clan."