Sweet the lark's wild-warbling lay,
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear;
But, Delia, more delightful still
Steal thine accents on mine ear.

The flower-enamor'd busy bee
The rosy banquet loves to sip;
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip;

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips

Let me, no vagrant insect, rove;
Oh let me steal one liquid kiss;

For, oh! my soul is parch'd by love!

COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST.

This and the five following songs were addressed to Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns.

TUNE-Kauld Kail.

COME, 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,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure:

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine forever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never!

I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN.

I'LL ay ca" in by yon town

And by yon garden green again;

I'll ay ca' in by yon town,

And see my bonnie Jean again.

There's nane sall ken,' there's nane sall guess,
What brings me back the gate again,
But she, my fairest, faithfu' lass;

And stowlins we sall meet again.

She'll wander by the aiken-tree,
When trystin'-time draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,

Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again.

THE RANTING DOG THE DADDIE O'T.

Burns says, "I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud."

TUNE-East neuk o' Fife.

O WHA my baby clouts' will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?

The rantin' dog the daddie o 't.
Wha will own he did the faut?"
Wha will buy my groanin'-maut ?*
Wha will tell me how to ca't?
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
When I mount the creepie-chair,
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,

The rantin' dog the daddie o 't.
Wha will crack to me my lane?1o
Wha will mak me fidgin' fain?
Wha will kiss me owre again?

The rantin' dog the daddie o 't.

1 Call.-2 Shall know.-3 In secret.-4 Oak.-5 Clothes.- Heed.-7 Fault - Malt.-9 Stool of repentance.-10 Talk to me in secret.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

This song was written in honor of Mrs. Burns, during the honey-moon.
TUNE-Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey.

OF a' the airts' the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west;

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:

There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,"

And monie a hill between;

But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:

I hear in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.

This song was also written in honor of Mrs. Burns, about the same time as the preceding.

TUNE-My love is lost to me.

Он, were I on Parnassus' hill!
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my Muse's well,
My Muse maun be thy bonnie sel';
On Corsincon I'll glowers and spell,

And write how dear I love thee!
Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day,
I couldna sing, I couldna say,

How much-how dear I love thee.

1 Quaters of the heavens, i. e. east, west, north, or south.-2 Roll.—3 To

cok with earnest and fixed attention.-4 Live-long.

I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp,' thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een-
By heaven and earth, I love thee!

By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And ay I muse and sing thy name:
I only live to love thee.

Tho' I were doom'd to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;
'Till then-and then I love thee.

CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD.

Craigie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. This wood, and that of Duncrieff, were at one time favorite haunts of Burns. It was there he met the "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks," and composed several of his songs.

SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn,
And blythe awakes the morrow,
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht' but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild-birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom wringing?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.,

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,

When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree,
Around my grave they 'll wither!

Slender.-2 Naught.

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Burns composed this song to the beautiful air of "Macpherson's Farewell." Macpherson was a famous robber in the beginning of the last century, and was condemned to be hanged at the assizes at Inverness. His exploits, however, as a freebooter, were debased by no act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed; nor was any murder ever committed under his command. A dispute with one of his own troop, who wished to plunder a gentleman's house while his wife and two children lay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his being betrayed to the vengeance of the law. He was an admirable performer on the violin, and his talent for musical composition is evinced, not only in his "Rant" and "Pibroch," but also in his " Farewell," which he composed while he was in prison under sentence of death. He played his "Farewell" at the foot of the gallows; and then broke his violin over his knee. He died with the same fortitude as he had lived-a stranger to repentance, to remorse, and to fear. His sword is still preserved at Duff-house, a residence of the Earl of Fife.

1

TUNE-Macpherson's Farewell.

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
Macpherson's time will not be long,
On yonder gallows-tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring1 and danced it round,
Below the gallows-tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?
Ón monie a bludie plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;

And there's not a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.

Sae rantingly, &c.

I've lived a life of sturt2 and strife;
I die by treacherie:

It burns my heart I must depárt,

And not avengéd be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

A quick air in music, a Scottish reel.-2 Trouble.