WHEN WILD WAR'S DEADLY BLAST WAS BLAWN. WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn, A leal light heart was in my breast, I thought upon the banks o' Coil, Nature gladdening and adorning; The murky shades o' care With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; But when in beauty's light, She meets my ravish'd sight, "Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy. Our Bard himself seems to think, that it would not be benefited by an alteration. "I could," says he, " easily throw this into an English mould; but to my taste, in the simple and the tender of the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an inimitable effect." We should imagine that the justness of the observation is unquestionable. Simplicity in language is surely the best calculated to express the tenderest emotions of the human heart. It will be observed, however, that this song has suffered but little in the alteration; and that it possesses a richness and pathos seldom equalled by any of our best English pieces. At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass, That's dearest to thy bosom ! My purse is light, I've far to gang, And fain would be thy lodger; I've serv'd my king and country langTake pity on a sodger! Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, And lovelier was than ever; Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, Forget him shall I never: Our humble cot and hamely fare, Ye freely shall partake it; That gallant badge, the dear cockade, Ye're welcome for the sake o't. She gaz'd-she redden'd like a rose- She sank within my arms, and cried, The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, And mair wese ne'er be parted. Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, For gold the merchant ploughs the main, SWEET ELLEN OF THE DALE. TUNE-" Maid of Erin." No hope, no comfort near me, She loved, she loved another, His hapless lot bewail; No tears nor sighs can move her, By the author of the Farewell to Avondale. BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL. TUNE-" Liggeram Cosh." BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill, Care and anguish seize me. * POOR MARY. TUNE-"A' body's like to get married but me." I MET my dear lassie short syne in yon dale, * BURNS, in a letter to THOMSON, says, 66 Blythe hae I been on the hill is one of the finest songs I ever made in my life, and be sides is composed on a young lady positively the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world." It is certainly a charming song, but we do not think, that it can at all be set in the same line with the Banks of the Devon or Highland Mary. A feverish heat has depriv'd o' their bloom, 'Twas thus a fair flow'ret adorn'd my lone walk, If I were but destin'd to ca' her my ain, Detraction and malice-society's pest! I know 'tis your venom that pains her pure breast; But, O for that haven, 'yont life's stormy sea, Where Mary, I trust, shall be happy wi' me ! * MATTY. WHILE Phœbus reposes in Thetis's bosom, Nor hardship, nor care, now my bosom harasses, For Matty is fame and ambition to me. By Mr. A. FLETCHER. Dd |