MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.

Tune-" Druimion dubh."

[The air of this song is from the Highlands: the verses were written in compliment to the feelings of Mrs. M'Lauchlan, whose husband was an officer serving in the East Indies.]

MUSING on the roaring ocean,

Which divides my love and me;
Wearying heaven in warm devotion,
For his weal where'er he be.

Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me;

Downy sleep, the curtain draw;

Spirits kind, again attend me,

Talk of him that's far awa!

BLITHE WAS SHE.

Tune-" Andro and his cutty gun.”

[The heroine of this song, Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, was justly called the "Flower of Strathmore:" she is now widow of Lord Methven, one of he Scottish judges, and mother of a fine family. The song was written at Ochtertyre, in June, 1787.]

CHORUS.

Blithe, blithe and merry was she,

Blithe was she but and ben:

Blithe by the banks of Ern,

And blithe in Glenturit glen.

By Auchtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;

But Phemie who a bonnier lass
Than braes of Yarrow ever saw.

Her looks were like a flow'er in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Ern,

As light's a bird upon a thorn.

Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;

The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:

Blithe by the banks of Ern,

And blithe in Glenturit glen.

THE BLUDE RED ROSE AT YULE MAY BLAW.

Tune-" To daunton me."

[The Jacobite strain of "To daunton me," must have been in the mind of the poet when he wrote this pithy lyric for tb Museum.]

THE blude red rose at Yule may blaw,

The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, and me so young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

For a' his meal and a' his maut,

For a' his fresh beef and his saut,

For a' his gold and white monie,

An auld man shall never daunton me.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee,

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

He hirples twa fauld as he dow,

Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,

And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd ee

That old man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

COME BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE.

Tune-" O'er the water to Charlie."

[The second stanza of this song, and nearly all the third, are by Burns. Many songs, Rome of merit, on the same subject, and to the same air, were in other days current in Scotland.]

COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er,

Come boat me o'er to Charlie;
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,

To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him:
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!

I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And the sun that shines so early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,

We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die with Charlie!

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

Tune-" The Rose-bud."

[The "Rose-bud" of these sweet verses was Miss Jean Cruikshank, afterwards Mrs. Henderson, daughter of William Cruikshank, of St. James's Square, one of the masters of the High School of Edinburgh: she is also the subject of a poem equally sweet.]

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,

Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,

In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast

Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tends thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and
gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning.

RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.

Tune-" Rattlin', roarin' Willie.”

["The hero of this chant," says Burns, "was one of the worthiest fellows in the world -William Dunbar, Esq., Writer to the Signet, Edinburgh, and Colonel of the Crochallan corps-a club of wits, who took that title at the time of raising the fencible regiments."] O RATTLIN', roarin' Willie,

O, he held to the fair,
An' for to sell his fiddle,

An' buy some other ware;
But parting wi' his fiddle,

The saut tear blint his ee;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
Ye're welcome hame to me!

O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
O sell your fiddle sae fine;
O Willie, come sell your fiddle,

And buy a pint o' wine!

If I should sell my fiddle,

The warl' would think I was mad;

For mony a rantin' day

My fiddle and I hae had.

As I cam by Crochallan,

I cannily keekit ben--
Rattlin', roarin' Willie

Was sittin' at yon board en';
Sitting at yon board en',

And amang good companie;
Rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!