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Let us as jovial be as they,
But soon the winter of the year,
BLUE EYED ANNE.
TUNE" Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff." NINE times bleak winter's cranreuch snell
Despoil'd o' bloom the daisied lea, And nine times has the primrose pale
Spread round the dells of Coir-in-shee, Since, where Mountstuart's dusky groves
Wave o'er yon foaming distant sea, I, blushin', own'd my youthful love,
And Blue-eyed Anne reprov'd na me.
Wha then cou'd think our joys wad fade!
Love's dearest pleasures a' we knew; And not a cloud was seen to shade
The blissful scenes young fancy drew: But, whyles, misfortune overcasts
Our fairest hopes when least we dree:Alas! I've born her rudest blast,
Yet Blue-eyed Anne still smiles on me. Now safe retir'd, no more I'll stray
Ambition's faithless path alang,
Dunoon's green winding vales amang:
When spring revives each flower and tree,
Whare Blue-eyed Anne first smild on me.
* This charming little song is by the same Author as “ Lassie we' the raven locks,” and was written in January, 1806, among the ruins of Dunoon Castle, which command a distant view of Mountstuart, in the isle of Bute. Blue-eyed Anne is Mrs. FLETCHER, the Poet’s amiable partner, a lady exemplary for every virtue that can adorn the female breast. The first two lines of the last stanza refer to the Author's being unsuccessful in business at an early period of life. Coir-in-shee, or Cor-ryntshee, is a wild sequestered spot on the western bank of the beautiful and truly romantic lake, Loch-haik, Cowal, Argyllshire. In the days of other years," it was the favourite haunt of “ the nimble-footed deer;" and its mountains, caves, and glens, have been celebrated in many a hunter's song. No admirer of Salvator can travel Loch-haik-side, without pleasures Indeed, a scene so truly Alpine is seldom met with in this country. The following stanza of Beattie's Minstrel, is strictly descriptive of this charming spot :
“ Along the (lake's green margin) you might see,
The parching eagle oft was heard to cry,
Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang; Ilk daud o' the scartle strack fire,
While, loud as a layrock, she sang! Her Geordie had promis'd to marrie,
An' Meg, a sworn fae to despair, Not dreamin the job cou'd miscarrie,
Already seem'd mistress an’ mair!
An' ca' me, daft, halucket Meg,
ľ the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg!
An' Geordie, poor fallow ! they ca' An auld, doitit hav'rel!-Nae matter,
He'll keep me ay brankin an' braw!
I grant ye, his face is kenspeckle,
That the white o' his ee is turn'd out, That his black beard is rough as a heckle,
That his mou to his lug's rax'd about; But they need na let on that he's crazie,
His pike-staff wull ne'er let him fa'; Nor that his hair's white as a daisie,
For, fient a hair has he ava!
But a weel-plenish'd mailin has Geordie,
An' routh o' guid goud i' his kist; An' if siller comes at my wordie,
His beautie, I never wull miss't! Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder,
Think love-raptures ever wull burn! But wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder,
Wull cauld as an iceshogle turn!
There'll just be ae bar to my pleasure,
A bar that's aft fill'd me wi' fear,
He likes his saul less than his gear!
An' swear nought wi' goud can compare,
His bags sall be mouldie nae mair!
A flunkie ahint me i' green;
An' the saut tear was blindin his een!
I'll hae frae him what ser's my turn;
Shame fa' me! gin lang I wad mourn !
Was cloutin his breeks i' the bauks,
His strang, hazle pike-staff he taks ;
He chanc'd on the lather to shift,
Flew, like a shot-starn frae the lift !
An', nae doubt, was bannin ill luck;
An' his mou was fill'd fou wi' the muck!
The glaur that adown his beard ran;-
The door,-an' thus lost a gudeman ! *
* We owe this humorous song to the Rev. James Nicol, ay. thor of two volumes of poetry. Poor Meg! although we see the
\ EV'NING SHEDS HER GEMS O' DEW.
TUNE—“ Gloomy winter's now awa."
Upon thy grave, my Mary, 0!
Wi' me must ever tarry, 0.
Till I rejoin my Mary, O!
In grief for thee, my Mary, O!
sooth my bosom, Mary, 0.
fair airy superstructure she had reared, even in contempt of pube lic opinion, tumble at once about her ears, we can scarcely call her unfortunate. She had only expatiated on all the lights of the picture without any of its shades. As for the antiquated votary of the Cyprian Goddess, we must heartily congratulate him on his acquiring, at the cheap rate of a temporary mortification of his gustatory or olfactory feelings, a piece of information that too many in his circumstances are constrained to learn when the knowledge can be of little consequence to them.