ON A PLOUGHMAN.

As I was a-wandering ae morning in spring,

I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singing these words, he did say,

There's nae life like the ploughman's in the month of sweet May.

The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest,
And mount the air wi' the dew on her breast,
And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing,
And at night she'll return to her nest back again.

one

80

no

lark, from

EVAN BANKS.

TUNE-Savourna Delish.

SLOW spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires:
To Evan banks with temp'rate ray,
Home of youth, he leads the day.

Oh! banks to me for ever dear!
Oh! stream, whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who, trembling, heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye:
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound,
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;

What secret charm to mem'ry brings
All that on Evan's border springs!

Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:

Blest stream! she views thee haste to Clyde.

Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost!
Return, ye moments of delight,

With richer treasures bless my sight!

Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!

Nor more may aught my steps divide

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde!

HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER.

TUNE-The Job of Journey-Work.

ALTHO' my back be at the wa',
And tho' he be the fautor;
Altho' my back be at the wa',

Yet, here's his health in water!
O! wae gae by his wanton sides,

Sae brawlie he could flatter; Till for his sake I'm slighted sair,

And dree the kintra clatter.
But tho' my back be at the wa',
And tho' he be the fautor;

But tho' my back be at the wa',
Yet, here's his health in water.

wall

faulty person

woe, go so nicely

sore

endure, country

AH, CHLORIS.
TUNE-Major Graham.

Aн, Chloris, since it may na be,
That thou of love wilt hear;
If from the lover thou maun flee,
Yet let the friend be dear.

not

must

Altho' I love my Chloris mair
Than ever tongue could tell;
My passion I will ne'er declare,
I'll say I'll wish thee well:

Tho' a' my daily care thou art,
And a' my nightly dream,
I'll hide the struggle in my heart,
And say it is esteem.

[The manuscript of this Song, in Burns' handwriting, is in the possession of Mr John Dick, bookseller, Ayr. By his kind permission we are enabled to give it here.]

SONG,

IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED FARMER.

TUXE-Go from my window, Love, do.

THE sun he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retirèd to rest,

While here I sit all sore beset

With sorrow, grief, and wo;

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But misery and I must watch

The surly tempest blow:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear partner of my breast,
Her cares for a moment at rest:

Must I see thee, my youthful pride,
Thus brought so very low I

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet babies in her arms,
No anxious fear their little heart alarms;
But for their sake my heart doth ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune carest,
I once could relieve the distrest:

Now, life's poor support hardly earned,
My fate will scarce bestow :

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!

How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear,
Ŏ whither would they go?
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

O whither, O whither shall I turn!
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn!
For in this world rest or peace

I never more shall know!
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

LETTERS.

I.

TO ELLISON BEGBIE.

About 1783.

I VERILY believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings of love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of virtue and piety. This, I hope, will account for the uncommon style of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean their being written in such a hasty manner, which, to tell you the truth, has made me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous bigot, who conversed with his mistress as he would converse with his minister. I don't know how it is, my dear, for though, except your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much plcasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy raptures so much talked of among lovers. I have often thought that if a well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue, 'tis something extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of generosity, kindles in my breast, it extinguishes every dirty spark of malice and envy which are but too apt to infest me. 1 grasp every creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally participate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathise with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, often look up to the Divine Disposer of events with an eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope he intends to bestow on me in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that he may bless my endeavours to make your life as comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening the rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering the unkindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, at least in my view, worthy of a man, and, I will add, worthy of a Christian. The sordid earthworm may profess love to a woman's person, whilst in reality his affection is centered in her pocket; and the slavish drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse-market, to choose one who is stout and firm, and, as we may say of an old horse, one who will be a good drudge, and

draw kindly. I disdain their dirty, puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour with myself if I thought I were capable of having so poor a notion of the sex, which were designed to crown the pleasures of society. Poor fellows! I don't envy them their happiness who have such notions. For my part, I propose quite other pleasures with my dear partner. R. B.

11.

TO THE SAME.

MY DEAR E.-I do not remember, in the course of your acquaintance and mine, ever to have heard your opinion on the ordinary way of falling in love amongst people of our station in life. I do not mean the persons who proceed in the way of bargain, but those whose affection is really placed on the person.

Though I be, as you know very well, but a very awkward lover myself, yet as I have some opportunities of observing the conduct of others who are much better skilled in the affair of courtship than I am, I often think it is owing to lucky chance more than to good management that there are not more unhappy marriages than usually are.

It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance of the females, and customary for him to keep them company when occasion serves some one of them is more agreeable to him than the rest there is something, he knows not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in her company. This I take to be what is called love with the greater part of us; and I must own, my dear E., it is a hard game such a one as you have to play when you meet with such a lover. You cannot refuse but he is sincere, and yet though you use him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few months, or at farthest in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy may make him as distractedly fond of another, whilst you are quite forgot. I am aware that perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of seeing you, you may bid me take my own lesson home, and tell me that the passion I have professed for you is perhaps one of those transient flashes I have been describing; but I hope, my dear E., you will do me the justice to believe me, when I assure you that the love I have for you is founded on the sacred principles of virtue and honour, and by consequence, so long as you continue possessed of those amiable qualities which first inspired my passion for you, so long must I continue to love you. Believe me, my dear, it is love like this alone which can render the marriage state happy. People may talk of flames and raptures as long as they please-and a warm fancy, with a flow of youthful spirits, may make them feel something like what they describe; but sure I am, the nobler faculties of the mind, with