Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear He wanders as free as the wind on his mountains, REPLY TO THE ABOVE. BY A YOUNG ENGLISH GENTLEWOMAN. FOUND STAY, my Willie-yet believe me, CHLOE. ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG Ir was the charming month of May, From peaceful slumber she arose, Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me. Girt on her mantle and her hose, But to think I was betray'd, And o'er the flowery mead she goes, That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder! The feather'd people you might see To take the floweret to my breast, And find the guilefu' serpent under ! Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive me, That heaven I'd find within thy bosom. CALEDONIA. THEIR groves O sweet myrtles let foreign reckon, Where bright-beaming summers exalt the Perch'd all around on every tree, *Burns wrote this song in compliment to Mrs. Burns during their honeymoon. The air, with many others of equal beauty, was the composition of a Mr. Marshall, who, in Barns's time, was butler to the Duke of Gurden. This beautiful cong-beautiful for both its amatory and its patriotic sentimeet-ems to have been com. posed by Burns during the period when he was court. ing the lady who afterwards became his wife. The present ren ration is much interested in this lady, and deservedly; as, in addition to her poetical history, which is an extremely intesting one, she is a personene of the greatest srivate worth, and in every respect deservi to L. escomed as the widow of Scotland's best and most enloael bad. The following anecdote vill sterløps be held na festifying, in 20 inconsiderable landscore, to a quality which she may not hitherto have bera soup to porco --her wit. 1. Baeghere lor khown, that Mrs. Turns has, ever since per-her demi's deach, o mind exacly the mue house fume; Far dearer to me you lone glen o' green breekan, With the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. in Dumfrie”, which she inhabit,d before that event, trait by Nasmyth, his family-bable, with the names and the bedroom in which the port died, his original r 7 trifles of the same nature--he proceeded to intreat that she would have the kindnes o present him with some relic of the poet, whie i he midchi carry sway with hay as a wonder, to show in his own county. ** Indiced, Though rich is the breeze, in their gay sunny Sir," said Mrs. Burns, Ihwe given away so many vallies, lies of Mr. Burns, that, to tell ye the truth, I haven one left."-" Oh, you mest erely have somethin" said the persevering Saxon; any thing will do-aby little scrap of his handwriting-he least thing you please. All I want is just a rélie of the poet; midiny thing, you know, will do for a relic." Scie further What are they?-the haunt o' the tyrant and altercation took place, the lady reasserting that she had slave! And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands, that skirt the proud palace, The slave's spicy forests and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; no relic to give, and he e resgatedly relewing his res These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast of thine; The courtier's gems may witness love, CLARINDA.* CLARINDA, mistress of my soul, To what dark cave of frozen night We part, but by these precious drops, No other light shall guide my steps, The widow alluded to in the Life, CONTENTIT WI' LITTLE. Tune-"Lumps o' Puddin." CONTENTIT wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thocht; A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa, Blind chance, let her snapper and stoite on her way; Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jand gae ; Come case or come travail, come pleasure or pain, My warst word is--Welcome, and welcome, àgain! COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST. 1 Tune-" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." Cosir, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; And I shall spurn, as vilest dust, The warld's wealth and grandeur : And do I hear my Jeanie own, That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, COUNTRY LASSIE. IN simmer when the hay was mawn, Says, I'll be wed come o't what will; Its ye hae wooers mony a ane, And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken ; Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, A routhie butt, a routhie ben: There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen, It's plenty beets the luver's fire. For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, . For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, The canniest gate, the strife is sair; But aye fu' han't is fechtin' best, A hungry care's an unco care: But some will spend, and some will spare, And wilfu' folk maun hae their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. O gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye; But the tender heart o' leesome luve, The gowd and siller canna buy: We may be poor, Robie and I, Light is the burden luve lays on; Content and love brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne? 'DAINTIE DAVIE. THIS song, tradition says, and the composition itself confirms it, was composed on the Rev. David Williamson's getting the daughter of Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party of dragoons were searching her house to apprehend him for being an adherent to the solemn league and covenant. The pious woman had put a lady's night-cap on him, and had laid him a-bed with her own daughter, and passed him to the soldiery as a lady, her daughter's bed-fellow. -A mutilated stanza or two are to be found in Herd's collection, but the original song consists of five or six stanzas, and were their delicacy equal to their wit and humour, they would merit a place in any collection.-The first stanza is, Being pursued by a dragoon,` DAINTY DAVIE. Tune" Dainty Davie." Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay green birken bowers, And now come in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie. Meet me on the warlock knowe, Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; There I'll spend the day wi" you, My ain dear dainty Davie. The crystal waters round us fa', When purple morning starts the hare, When day, expiring in the west, DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE, Tune-" The Collier's Bonnie Lassie." DELUDED Swain, the pleasure The fickle fair can give thee Is but a fairy treasure Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. The billows on the ocean, The breezes idly roaming, The clouds' uncertain motion, They are but types of woman. O! art thou net ashamed To doat upon a feature? If man thou wouldst be named, Despise the silly creature. Go, find an honest fellow; Good claret set before thee: Hold on till thou art mellow; And then to bed in glory. |