Of this song, Currie says, erroneously, that it was written to stimulate the public mind during the general arming of the nation to resist French fraternization; and he adds, truly, that it is worthy of the Grecian muse-when Greece was most distinguished for genius and valour. An eminent painter selected it for a subject to his pencil: he painted a field of battle, from which Victory was ascending with outspread wings to the sky; the dead lay thick around; but the artist forgot that where all died there could be no victory. Burns wished to print this song by itself, and give it to his country some one advised him against this-he lived to be sorry for it.

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The last verse of this noble lyric seems conceived in the same spirit with which Akenside records the fall of Julius Cæsar :

"And speak, O man! does this capacious scene

With half that kindling majesty dilate

Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose
Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm
Aloft extending like eternal Jove,

When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud

On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,

And bade the father of his country, hail!

For lo! the tyrant prostrate in the dust-
And Rome again is free!"

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

Tune-" Afton Water."

I.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream-
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

II.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen; Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den ; Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear— I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

III.

How lofty, sweet Afton! thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

IV.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow!
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

V.

The crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

VI.

Flow gently, sweet Afton! among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays!
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream-
Flow gently, sweet Afton! disturb not her dream.

The copy of " Afton Water,” which the Poet presented to his kind and accomplished patroness, Mrs. Stewart, lies before me. Burns calls it simply "Sweet Afton," and adds no explanation. None was needed; the song explains itself: the lady was aware of the ways of the muse, and smiled at the images of beauty with which she was associated as she slumbered on the banks of her native stream. Unlike some other ladies of whom the Poet sang, she looked upon his strains as a mark of respect, and felt them as a work of genius. Afton is a small stream in Ayrshire, one of the tributaries of the Nith; Afton-lodge stands upon its bank, and is the residence of Miss Stewart and her sister, to whose active kindness this edition of the Poet's works is much indebted. The scenes on the Afton are beautiful, and merit the painter's pencil as much as the poet's song. Mrs. Stewart was heiress of the estate.

THE SMILING SPRING.

Tune-" The Bonnie Bell.”

I.

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

II.

The flowery spring leads sunny summer,
And yellow autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,
Till smiling spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging,

I adore my bonnie Bell.

"Bonnie Bell" was long a favourite with the maidens on the banks of the Nith the air is lively, and the words very pleasing and picturesque. An audacious rhymer added two verses, but no one condescended to sing them.

THE CARLES OF DYSART.

Tune-" Hey ca' thro'.” .

I.

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart,
And the lads o' Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasses o' Leven.

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',

For we hae mickle ado; Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', For we hae mickle ado.

II.

We hae tales to tell,

And we hae sangs to sing;

We hae pennies to spend,

And we hae pints to bring.

III.

We'll live a' our days,

And them that come behin',

Let them do the like,

And spend the gear they win.

VOL. IV.

Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',

For we hae mickle ado; Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro', For we hae mickle ado.

T