No man on earth, that draweth breath,
More courage had than I:
I dared my foes unto their face,

And would not from them fly.
This grandeur stout, I did keep out,
Like Hector, manfully:
Then wonder one like me so stout
Should hang upon a tree.

The Egyptian band I did command,
With courage more by far,
Than ever did a general

His soldiers in the war.

Being feared by all, both great and small,
I liv'd most joyfullie :

Oh, curse upon this fate o' mine,
To hang upon a tree.

The destiny of my life contrived,
By those whom I obliged,
Rewarded me much ill for good,
And left me no refuge :
But Braco Duff, in rage enough,
He first laid hands on me;
And if that death would not prevent,
Avenged would I be.

As for my life, it is but short,
When I shall be no more;

To part with life, I am content,
As any heretofore.

Therefore, good people all, take heed,
This warning take by me—
According to the lives you lead,
Rewarded you shall be.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY.

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early; When a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Cold blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly.

BURNS.

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY

BY JOHN HAMILTON.

CAULD blaws the wind frae north to south,
The drift is driving sairly,

The sheep are courin' in the heuch :
O, sirs, its winter fairly.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;
I'd rather gae supperless to my bed
Than rise in the mornin' early.

Loud roars the blast amang the woods,
And tirls the branches barely;
On hill and house hear how it thuds,
The frost is nipping sairly.

Now up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;

To sit a' nicht wad better agree

Than rise in the mornin' early.

The sun peeps ower yon southland hills Like ony timorous carlie,

Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,

And that we find severely. Now up in the mornin's no for me, Up in in the mornin' early; When snaw blaws in at the chimly cheek, Wha'd rise in the mornin' early.

Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush ;
Poor things they suffer sairly,
In cauldrife quarters a' the night,
A' day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;

A pennyless purse I wad rather dree
Than rise in the mornin' early.

A cozie house and canty wife,

Aye keep a body cheerly;

And pantries stou'd wi' meat and drink,
They answer unco rarely.

But up in the mornin's no for me,
Up in the mornin' early;

are mine.

• Burns' own set of the Lament, appears liker the natural effusions of the high-spirited criminal, than this homily.

When I rise in the mornin' early

WALY, WALY.

IN the west country I have heard a different edition of the second stanza.-Instead of the four lines, beginning with, "When cockleshells," &c. the other way ran thus:

O WHEREFORE need I busk my head,
Or wherefore need I kame my hair,
Sin my fause luve has me forsook,
And says he'll never luve me mair.-
BURNS,

O WALY waly up the bank,

And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly by yon burn-side,

Where I and my love were wont to gae.

I leant my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trustie trie;

But first it bow'd, and syne it brake, And sae my true love did lyghtlie me.

O waly waly gin love be bonnie

A little time while it is new;
But when its auld it waxeth cauld,

And fades awa' like morning-dew.
O wherefore shu'd I busk my head?
Or wherefore shu'd I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,

And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed,

The sheits shall neir be fyl'd by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the trie?

For of my life I am wearie.

My love was clad i' th' black velvet,
And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kisst,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
Oh, oh! if my young babe were borne,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gone,
For a maid again Ile never be!

TODLEN HAME.

There's Johnie Smith has got a wife
That scrimps him o' his cogie,
If she were mine, upon my life
I'd douk her in a bogie.

My cogie, Sirs, &c.—BURNS.

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.

THERE'S cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Stra'bogie;
Gin I but hae a bonny lass,
Ye're welcome to your cogie:
And ye may sit up a' the night,
And drink till it be braid day-light;

ever was composed.-BURNS.

WHEN I've a saxpence under my thumb.
Then I'll get credit in ilka town:

But ay when I'm poor they bid me gae by;
O! poverty parts good company.
Todlen hame, todlen hame,

Coudna my loove come todlen hame?

Fair-fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale,
She gi'es us white bannocks to drink, her ale,
Syne if her tippony chance to be sma',
We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa'.
Todlen hame, todlen hame,

As round as a neep, come todlen hame.

My kimmer and I lay down to sleep,
And twa pintstoups at our bed-feet;
And ay when we waken'd, we drank them dry:
What think ye of my wee kimmer and I?
Todlen but, and todlen ben,

Sae round as my loove comes todlen hame.

Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow,

Ye're ay sae good humour'd when weeting your mou;

When sober sae sour, ye'll fight wi' a flee,
That 'tis a blyth sight to the bairns and me,
When todlen hame, todlen hame,
When round as a neep ye come todlen hame.

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.

To dance the Reel of Bogie.

In foursome reels the Scotch delight,
The threesome maist dance wond'rous ligar;
But twasome's ding a' out o' sight,
Danc'd to the Reel of Bogie.

Come, lads, and view your partners well,
Wale each a blythsome rogie;
I'll tak this lassie to mysel,
She seems sae keen and vogie!
Now piper lad bang up the spring;
The countra fashion is the thing,
To prie their mou's e'er we begin
To dance the Reel of Bogie.

Now ilka lad has got a lass,
Save yon auld doited fogie;
And ta'en a fling upo' the grass,
As they do in Stra'bogie:
But a' the lasses look sae fain,
We canna think oursel's to hain,
For they maun hae their come again
To dance the Reel of Bogie.

1

Now a' the lads hae done their best,
Like true men of Stra'bogie;
We'll stop awhile and tak a rest,
And tipple out a cogie:

Come now, my lads, and tak your glass,
And try ilk other to surpass,

In wishing health to every lass

verses are,

THERE'S cauid kail in Aberdeen,

And castocks in Strabogie; When ilka lad maun hae his lass,

Then fye, gie me my engie. My cogie, Sirs, my cogie, Sirs, I cannot want my cogie : I wadna gie my three-girr'd stoup For a' the quenes on Bogie.

WE RAN AND THEY RAN,

THE author of We ran and they ran, and they run and we ran, &c. was the late Rev Murdoch M Lennan, minister at Crathie, Des side.-BURNS.