But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne' as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill."

"Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome3 love,
The gowd and siller canna buy:
We may be poor-Robie and I,
Light is the burden love lays on;
Content and love brings peace and joy,
What mair hae queens upon a throne?"

BESSY AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.

Written for Johnson's "Musical Museum." The old song of the "Lass and her Spinning-Wheel," though animated by love, must have suggested to Burns the idea of this eulogy to household thrift. It is a pity that there is now so little to do-in Scotland at least-for "spinning-wheels."

TUNE-Bottom of the Punch Bowl.

O LEEZE me1 on my spinning-wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,"
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh' descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit1o cot;
The scented birk" and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest;12

The sun blinks kindly in the biel,13

Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.

-6

Since.—2 Ale.—3 Pleasant.-4 A phrase of attachment.-5 Clothes me plentifully. Covers me soft.-7 Low.-8 Every.- Rivulets.—10 Thatched -11 Birch-tree.-12 Cool.-13 Shade.

On lofty aiks1 the cushats' wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,*
Delighted, rival ither's lays:
The craik amang the claver" hay,
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,"
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon' distress, below envy,

Oh wha would leave this humble state
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?

BONNIE JEAN.

The heroine of this ballad was Miss M. of Dumfries. She is not painted in the rank which she held in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager.

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark,
And ay she sang sae merrilie;
The blythest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,

The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naiges1o nine or ten.

1 Oaks.-2 Doves.-3 Linnets.-4 The slope of a hill. The landrail.Clover.-7 Pasture ground.-8 Shed.-9 Above.-10 Horses.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst,

1

He danced wi' Jeanie on the down: And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint," her peace was stown.

As in the bosom of the stream

The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en,
So, trembling, pure, was tender love,
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.

And now she works her mammie's wark,
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,

Ae e'enin' on the lily lea?

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
And whisper'd thus his tale of love.
"O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

Oh canst thou think to fancy me?
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farm wi' me?
"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me."

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.

1 Fair.- Lost.-3 Leap.

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME.

This ballad is founded on an amour of Charles the Second, when skulking in the north, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. The lass that made the bed to him was a daughter of the house of Port Letham, where he was entertained The old verses are greatly inferior to this improved version of the story.

WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,"
I knew nae where to lodge till day.
By my good luck a maid I met,
"Just in the middle o' my care;
And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,

Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,

And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,

And frae my chamber went wi' speed;

But I call'd her quickly back again

To lay some mair3 below my head.

A cod she laid below my head,
And served me wi' due respect;
And to salute her wi' a kiss,

I put my arms about her neck.

"Haud aff your hands, young man," she says,
"And dinna sae uncivil be:

If ye hae onie love for me,

Oh wrang nae my virginitie!"

Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie;
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.

1 Darksome.-2 Enfold.-3 More.-4 A sort of pillow.

Her bosom was the driven snaw,

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

And aye she wist na what to say;
I laid her between me and the wa',
The lassie thought nae lang till day.
Upon the morrow when we rose,
I thank'd her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me."

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,'
While the tear stood twinklin' in her ee;
I said, "My lassie, dinna cry,

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me."

She took her mither's Holland sheets,
And made them a' in sarks' to me:
Blythe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me.

The bonnie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me:

I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,

The lass that made the bed to me!

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

This gentleman was an intimate friend and correspondent of the Poet's. One of the last letters he wrote, dated from Brow, Sea-bathing Quarters, July 7, 1796, four. teen days before his death, was addressed to Mr. A. Cunningham.

TUNE-The Hopeless Lover.

Now spring has clad the groves in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers:

The furrow'd, waving corn is seev

Rejoice in fostering showers:

1 Then.-2 Shirts.