Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,
Nature gladd'ning and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent frae my fair,

The murky shades o' care

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;
But when in beauty's light,
She meets my ravished sight,
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart-

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy!1

1 Variation:

Now to the streaming fountain,

Or up the heathy mountain,

The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;

In twining hazel-bowers

His lay the linnet pours;
The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

When frae my Chloris parted,

Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,

The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky:
But when she charms my sight,

In pride of beauty's light;
When through my very heart

Her beaming glories dart

'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy! — CURRIE.

THE AULD MAN.

BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day;
Through gentle showers the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay.

But now our joys are fled

On winter blasts awa'!

Yet Maiden May, in rich array,

Again shall bring them a'.

pow! nae kindly thowe Shall melt the snaws of age;

head-thaw

But my white

My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,1

old age

Sinks in Time's wintry rage.

Oh, Age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain!

Thou golden time o' youthful prime,

Why com'st thou not again?

1 Without bush or shelter.

Oct., 1794.

TO CHLORIS.

INSCRIBED IN A BOOK PRESENTED TO HER.

Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend,

Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralising Muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) To join the friendly few:

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast,
Chill came the tempest's lower;
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast

Did nip a fairer flower:)

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

Still much is left behind;

Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-
The comforts of the mind!

Thine is the self-approving glow,
On conscious honour's part;

And, dearest gift of Heaven below,
Thine friendship's truest heart.

The joys refined of sense and taste,
With every Muse to rove:
And doubly were the poet blest,
These joys could he improve.

MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN THE GROVES.

tion

TUNE- My Lodging is on the cold Ground.

"In my last, I told you my objections to the song you had selected for My Lodging is on the cold Ground. On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris — that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspira- she suggested an idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following song. It is exactly in the measure of My dearie, an thou die, which you say is the precise rhythm of the air.”— Burns to Mr. Thomson, Nov., 1794.

Mr Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;

The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,

And o'er the cottage sings:
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blithe, in the birken shaw.

birchen wood

The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo:
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine:

The courtier's gems may witness loveBut 'tis na love like mine.