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TUNE_" The Moudiewort."
And O, for ane and twenty, Tam!

An hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam!
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang,

An I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
THEY snool me sair, and haud me down,

And gar me look right bluntie, Tam! But three short years will soon wheel roun', And then comes ane and twenty, Tam.

And O, for ane, &c.
Ągleib o'lan', a claut o'

Was left me by my auntie, Tam;
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An I saw ane and twenty, Tam.

And O, for ane, &c.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,

Tho' I mysel hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof,
I'm thinę at ane and twenty, Tam!

And 0, for ane, &c.

THE MINSTREL. KEEN blaws the wind o'er Donnocht-Head,

The snaw drives snellie thro' the dale ; The Gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck,

And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale. Cauld is the night, O let me in,

And dinna let your minstrel fa'; And dinna let his winding sheet

Be naething but a wreath o'snaw.

Full ninety winters hae I seen,

And pip'd whare gor-cocks whirring flew; And monie a day ye've danc'd, I ween,

To lilts which from my drone I blew. My Eppie wak’d, and soon she cry'd,

Get up, guidman, and let him in; For weel ye ken the winter night

Was short when he began his din, My Eppie's voice, O wow it's sweet,

Even tho' she bans and scaulds a wee; But when it's tun'd to sorrow's tale,

O, haith, its doubly dear to me!

Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire,

I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame;
Your bluid is thin, ye’ve tint the gate,

Ye should nae stray sae far frae hame,

Nae hame have I, the minstrel said,

Sad party-strife o'erturned my ha';
And, weeping, at the eve of life,

I wander thro' a wreath o'snaw.

* This transcendent little fragment, which must be admired by every one in whom the warmth of feeling glows even in its last embers, has been published anonymously. And that it was ascribed to Burns is evident from his own words, which we will with more cheerfulness transcribe, since they contain a very high encomium upon it. In a letter to Mr. THOMPSON he thus writes, Donocht-Head is not mine; I would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald, and came to the editor of that paper with the Newcastle post mark on it." We certainly agree with the Editor of the Reliques of Burns, that the author need not be ashamed to own himself, since it is worthy of even that poet himself, or Macneill. The aged Minstrel claiming the rites of hospitality from those whose best recollections

CAULD blaws the win' frae north to south,

And drift is driving sairly;
The sheep are couring i' the heugh,

O sirs! it's winter fairly.
Now up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
I'd rather gang supperless to my bed,

Than rise in the morning early.
Rude rairs the blast amang the woods,

The branches tirlin barely;
Amang the chimney-taps it thuds,

And frost is nippin sairly.


in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;
To sit a' the night I'd rather agree,

Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill,

Like onie timorous carlie ;
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,

And that we find severely.
Now up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek,

Wha'd rise in the morning 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.

are associated with his traditionary melodies, is a sacred character; and, when preferring this claim with the pathos of our author, charity, as she wipes the tear from the cheek of wretchedness, feels one trickle down her own, tributary to afflicted ge. pius.

Now up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;
No fate can be waur, in winter time,

Than rise in the morning early.
A cosey house, and cantie wife,

Keeps ay a body cheerly;
And pantry stow'd wi' meal and maut,

It answers unco rarely.
But up in the morning, na, na, na,

Up in the morning early;
The gowans maun glent on bank and brae,
When I rise in the morning early.



There's o'er monie wooin at her,
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen,
There's o'er monie wooin at her,
Wooin at her, pu’in at her,

Courtin at her, canna get her ;
Filthy elf, its for her pelf,

That a' the lads are wooin at her.
Ten cam east, and ten cam west,

Ten cam rowin o'er the water;
Twa cam down the lang-dyke side,
There's twa-and-thirty wooin at her.

Wooin at her, &c.
There's seven but, and seven ben,

Seven in the pantry wi' her;
Twenty head about the door,
There's ane-and-forty wooin at her.

Wooin at her, &c. * In page 137 our readers will find a song by Burns, of the same naine, and upon the same subject. The one here given appears to be the original, and is sometimes printed in conjunction with the one by BURNS.

She's got pendles in her lugs,

Cockle shells wad set her better:
High-heeld shoon, and siller tags,
And a' the lads are wooin at her.

Wooin at her, &c.
Be a lassie e'er sae black,

An' she hae the name o'siller,
Set her upo? Tintock tap,
The wind will blaw a man 'till her.

Wooin at her, &c.
Be a lassie e'er sae fair,

An' she want the pennie siller,
A flie may fell her in the air,
Before a man be even till her. *

Wooin at her, &c.

THE WEE WIFEIKIE. THERB was á wee bit wifeikie, was comin frae the fair, Had got a little drappikie, that bred her meikle care;

* Tibbie Fowler is a song of considerable antiquity, and a na. tive of Nithsdale, among the peasantry of which district many variations of it yet exist, though others of them have been long forgotten. in the absence of all other information respecting it, the following anecdote may perhaps be acceptable." An old Nithsdale farmer possessed a fair portion of that satiric humour which belongs to the song of Tibbie Fowler. Having two daughtersmair black than bonnie,' he would hint at their uncomeliness— My lassés wad hae mensed me had I lived among the black, but comelie daughters of Jerusalem,' he would say ;.but I'll do wi' them as the Gudeman o' Roanshaw did wi' his cowtes-He put siller graithing on them, and hung bobbins o' gowd at their manes, and shawed them at the market, saying • Some will gie a bode for ye, for the sonks and bridle !'”

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