III.

Lanely night comes on,

A' the lave are sleeping;

I think on my bonnie lad

And I bleer my een with greetin'.

Ay waukin O,

Waukin still and wearie:

Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

Some of the old verses of this song are still held in remembrance; they have a spice of the ridiculous, and also of the gentle

"I sat down and wrote

My true love a letter ;

My love canna read

I love him a' the better;

Ay wakin oh,

Wakin ay and wearie;
Come a pleasant dream,
Waft me to my dearie."

The first verse is by Burns; the remainder had only the benefit of his revisal. Tytler and Ritson unite in considering this one of our oldest melodies.

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

Tune-" Ye Gallants bright.”

I.

YE gallants bright, I red ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann ;

Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;

Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

II.

Youth, grace, and love attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van:

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;

Ye gallants braw, I red you a',

Beware o' bonnie Ann!

These verses were written in honour of Ann Masterton, daughter of Allan Masterton, author of the air of "Strathallan's Lament." She is now Mrs. Derbishire, and resides in London. In her father's house the Poet passed many happy evenings.

WHEN ROSY MAY.

Tune-" The Gardener wi' his paidle."

I.

WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours-

The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

The crystal waters gently fa';

The merry birds are lovers a' ;

The scented breezes round him blaw

The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

II.

When purple morning starts the hare

To steal upon her early fare,

Then thro' the dews he maun repair-
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature's rest,
He fiies to her arms he loe's best-

The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

In other days every trade and vocation had a tune to dance or march to the air of this song is the march of the gardeners: the title only is old-the rest is the work of Burns: Song was once as natural to man as music is to the birds of the air: but hard work-incessant drudgery rather-has silenced song at the plough-at the loom-in the forge-in the garden-at the carpenter's bench, and at the mason's banker. A song is seldom heard in the land now, save when some ragged wretch raises " a melancholious croon" as he holds out his hat for alms. Perhaps the ploughman still chants an air as he turns his furrow, and the shepherd still sings as he watches his lambs among the pastoral mountains: in the cities music is mute, save when hired: the pale mechanic has so much to endure in keeping his soul and body together, that song is out of the question. Music with him has died into " a quaver of consternation."

BLOOMING NELLY.

Tune-" On a Bank of Flowers.."

I.

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,

The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie wand'ring thro' the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

weapons sheath'd,

Were seal'd in soft repose;

Her lips still as she fragrant breath'd,

It richer dy'd the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild-wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'dHis bosom ill at rest.