Through lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path of man to shun it;

The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrusli,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

3 Thus every kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;

Some social join, and leagues combine;
Some solitary wander;
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;

The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The flutt'ring, gory pinion!

4 But Peggy,1 dear, the evening's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow:
Come let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

5 We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly press'd,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal showers to budding flowers,
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely charmer!

''Peggy' Margaret Thomson, Burns flame at Kirkoswald.

SONG.

TUNE- My Nannie O!'

1 BEHIND yon hills where Lugar1 flows, 'Mang moors an' mosses many, O! The wintry sun the day has closed, And I'll awa' to Nannie, O!

2 The westlin' wind blaws loud an' shrill: The night's baith mirk and rainy, O! But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, And owre the hills to Nannie, O!

3 My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young; Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O!

May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O!

4 Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O!
The opening gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O!

5 A country lad is my degree,

And few there be that ken me, O!
But what care I how few they be?
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O!

6 My riches a 's my penny-fee,

And I maun guide it cannie, O!
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a'-my Nannie, O!

16 Lugar:' originally Stinchar.

G

7 Our auld guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O!
But I'm as blithe that hauds his pleugh,
And has nae care but Nannie, O!

8 Come weel, come woe, I care na by,
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O!
Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nannie, O!

GREEN GROW THE RASHES, A FRAGMENT.

1 THERE's naught but care on every han',
In every hour that passes, O!

What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O!

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

2 The warly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O!
And though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

3 But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O!
And warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

'Note. This is an improvement on an old song.-B.

4 For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're naught but senseless asses, O!
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O!

5 Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O!
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O!

SONG.

TUNE- Jockey's Gray Breeks."

1 AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

CHORUS.1

And maun I still on Menie2 doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be!

2 In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the violets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,

The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

'This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburg, a particular friend of the author's.--B.—2 ' Menie:' is the common abbreviation of Marianne.

3 The merry ploughboy cheers his team, Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, But life to me 's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

4 The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And everything is blest but I.

5 The shepherd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill;
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.

6 And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,

And mounts and sings on flitt' ring wings,
A woeworn ghaist I hameward glide.

7 Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,
And raging bend the naked tree;
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,
When Nature all is sad like me!

SONG.

TUNE-Roslin Castle.'

1 THE gloomy night is gathering fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I sce it driving o'er the plain;