Be Britain still to Britain true,

Amang oursels united;

For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!

The kettle o' the kirk and state,
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it;
By heaven! the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch his true-born brother,
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be damn'd together!

Who will not sing, "God save the King,"
Shall hang as high's the steeple;
But while we sing, "God save the King,"
We'll ne'er forget the people.

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.

Tune-"Where'll bonnie Ann lie."

[The old song to the same air is yet remembered: but the humour is richer than the delicacy; the same may be said of many of the fine hearty lyrics of the elder days of Caleloria. These verses were composed in May, 1795, for Thomson.]

O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay!

Nor quit for me the trembling spray;

A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing fond complaining.

Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that would touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,

And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,

Sic notes o' woe could wauken.

Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief and dark despair:
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!

ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.

Tune-"Ay wakin' O."

[An old and once popular lyric suggested this brief and happy song for Thomson: some of the verses deserve to be held in remembrance.

Ay waking, oh,

Waking ay and weary

Sleep I canna get

For thinking o' my dearie.]

LONG, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care?

Can I cease to languish?
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish?

Every hope is fled,

Every fear is terror;
Slumber even I dread,

Every dream is horror.

Hear me, Pow'rs divine!
Oh, in pity hear me !
Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bad of sorrow.

CALEDONIA.

Tune-"Humours of Glen."

[Love of country often mingles in the lyric strains of Burns with his personal attachments, and in few more beautifully than in the following, written for Thomson: the heroine was Mrs. Burns.]

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume;
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green brockan,
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom:
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen;
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld CALEDONIA's blast on the wave;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they?—The haunt of the tyrant and slave!
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN.

Tune-"Laddie, lie near me."

[Though the lady who inspired these verses is called Mary by the poet, such, says tradition, was not her name: yet tradition, even in this, wavers, when it avers one while that Mrs Riddel, and at another time that Jean Lorimer was the heroine.]

"TWAS na her bonnie blue een was my ruin;

Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing:
"Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,

Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me!

But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,

Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,

And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter-
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS.

Tune-"John Anderson, my jo."

["I am at this moment," says Burns to Thomson, when he sent him this song, "hoid ing high converse with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on a prosaic dog such as you are." Yet there is less than the poet's usual inspiration in this lyric, for it is altered from an English one.]

How cruel are the parents

Who riches only prize,
And, to the wealthy booby,
Poor woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife;
To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.

The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,

To shun impelling ruin

Awhile her pinions tries;
Till of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,

And drops beneath his feet!

MARK YONDER POMP.

Tune-"Deil tak the wars."

[Burns tells Thomson, in the letter enclosing this song, that he is in a high fit of poetizing, provided he is not cured by the strait-waistcoat of criticism. "You see," said he, "how I answer your orders; your tailor could not be more punctual." This strain in honour of Chloris is original in conception, but wants the fine lyrical flow of some of his other compositions.]

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are the showy treasures?

What are the noisy pleasures?

The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewel's blaze
May draw the wond'ring gaze,

And courtly grandeur bright

The fancy may delight,

But never, never can come near the heart.

But, did you see my dearest Chloris

In simplicity's array;

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day;

O then the heart alarming,

And all resistless charming,

In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!
Ambition would disown

The world's imperial crown,

Even Avarice would deny

His worshipp'd deity,

And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll.