O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.

O WAT ye wha's in yon town,

Ye see the e'enin sun upon, The fairest dame's in yon town, That e'enin sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree:
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e.

How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year,
And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.

The

The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
But my delight in yon town,

And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.

Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky.

My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;

And she a lovely little flower,

That I wad tent and shelter there.

O sweet is she in yon town,

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon;
A fairer than's in yon town,
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.

If

angry fate is sworn my foe,

And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear.

For

For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
And she-as fairest is her form!

She has the truest, kindest heart,*

A RED

*The heroine of this song, Mrs. O. (formerly Miss L. J.) died lately at Lisbon. This most accomplished and most lovely woman was worthy of this beautiful strain of sensibility, which will convey some impression of her attractions to other generations. The song is written in the character of her husband, as the reader will have observed by our bard's letter to Mr. Syme inclosing this song, in VOL. ii. (1799)

E.

A RED RED ROSE.

MY

My luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I :

And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:

I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a-while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

A VISION.

A VISION,

As I stood by yon roofless tower,

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care.

The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.

The stream adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
*Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells an fa’s.

Variation. To join yon river on the Strath.

The