ROBERT BURNS ELIZA. Tune-" Gilderoy." [My late excellent friend, John Galt, informed me that the Eliza of this song was his relative, and that her name was Elizabeth Barbour.] FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore; Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh! THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. Tune-" Shawnboy." ["This song, wrote by Mr. Burns, was sung by him in the Kilmarnock-Kilwinning Lodge, in 1786, and given by him to Mr. Parker, who was master of the Lodge." These interesting words are on the original, in the poet's handwriting, in the possession of Mr. Gabriel Neil, of Glasgow.] YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, To follow the noble vocation; Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another To sit in that honoured station. I've little to say, but only to pray, As praying's the ton of your fashion; A prayer from the muse you well may excuse, F Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, Who marked each element's border; Who formed this frame with beneficent aim, Whose sovereign statute is order; Within this dear mansion may wayward contention Or withered envy ne'er enter; May secrecy round be the mystical bound, MENIE. Tune-"Johnny's grey breeks." [Of the lady who inspired this song no one has given any account: It first appeared in the second edition of the poet's works, and as the chorus was written by an Edinburgh gentleman, it has been surmised that the song was a matter of friendship rather than of the heart.] AGAIN rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry ploughboy cheers his team, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, The stately swan majestic swims, The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And maun 1 still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. Tune-" Good-night, and joy be wi' you a'." [Burns, it is said, sung this song in the St. James's Lodge of Tarbolton, when his ches was on the way to Greenock: men are yet living who had the honour of hearing himthe concluding verse affected the whole lodge.] ADIEU! a heart-warm, fond adieu! Oft have I met your social band, And spent the cheerful, festive night; And by that hieroglyphic bright, Which none but craftsmen ever saw! May freedom, harmony, and love And you farewell! whose merits claim, ON CESSNOCK BANKS. Tane-" If he be a butcher neat and trim.” [There are many variations of this song, which was first printed by Cromek from the oral communication of a Glasgow lady, on whose charms the poet, in early life, com posed it.] ON Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; Could I describe her shape and mien; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. She's sweeter than the morning dawn She's stately like yon youthful ash, That grows the cowslip braes between, And drinks the stream with vigour fresh; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn, With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her looks are like the vernal May, When evening Phoebus shines serene, Her hair is like the curling mist That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her forehead's like the show'ry bow, When gleaming sunbeams intervene, And gild the distant mountain's brow; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, Just opening on its thorny stem; An' she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her teeth are like the nightly snow Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, That sunny walls from Boreas screenThey tempt the taste and charm the sight An' she has twa sparkling roguish een Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, |