There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove MY ANNA. How sweet is the scene at the dawning o' morning! * The circumstance which impelled BURNS to the composition of this song is unfolded in the following extract from a letter to Mr. THOMPSON. "Do you know a blackguard Irish song, called Onagh's Water-fall? The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least, for my humble rustic muse, to expect that every effort of her's shall have merit; still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at all. On this principle I have all along proceeded in the Scots Musical Museum; and as that publication is at its last volume, I intend the following song, to the air above-mentioned, for that work. If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to have verses to it that you can sing before ladies." Mr. THOMPSON, it appears, did not admit it into his good company; but in a letter to BURNS he says, "I perceive the sprightly muse is now attendant upon her favourite poet, whose wood-notes wild are becoming as enchanting as ever. She says she loo's me best of a', is one of the pleasantest table-songs I have seen, and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going round." O! lang hae I loo'd her, and loo her fu' dearly, A language that bade me be constant and true! Then others may doat on their fond warly treasure, For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea; To love my sweet lassie be mine the dear pleasure, Wi' her let me live, and wi' her let me die! YOUNG ALLAN. THE sun in the west fa's to rest in the e'enin'; As the aik on the mountain resists the blast rairin', * We are indebted for this and the preceding Song to RICHARD GALL, author of My only Jo and Dearie, O, and the Farewell to Ayrshire. See pages 2, and 121. MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. MUSING on the roaring ocean, Hope and fear's alternate billow Ye, whom sorrow never wounded, Gentle night, do thou befriend me; འ་་་་་་་་་་་ LET DRUNKARDS SING. TUNE-" Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.” * BURNS tells us "he composed these verses out of compliment to a Mrs. M'LACHLAN, whose husband was an officer in the East Indies." The workman wha has toil'd a' day, Gif onie ane in barlock-hood, For barley drink, wad they but think, I've seen a chiel cou'd hardly speak, Whan I've a baubee in my pouch, Then care can never mak me crouch:- FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT. Is there, for honest poverty, For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak a belted knight, For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, |