enough to enable him to prick down the notes, though they remained long on his memory. The tune consisted, he said, of three parts, and these words were the offspring of the same period, and echoed the air." My poor country muse," he says, in the memoranda where this song is inserted, "all rustic, awkward, and unpolished as she is, has more charms for me than any other of the pleasures of life beside—as I hope she will not desert me in misfortune. I may even then learn to be, if not happy, at least easy, and south a sang to soothe my misery."— (March, 1784.)

I DREAM'D I LAY.

I.

I DREAM'D I lay where flowers were springing
Gaily in the sunny beam;
List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling, crystal stream:

Straight the sky grew black and daring;

Thro' the woods the whirldwinds rave;

Trees with aged arms were warring,
O'er the swelling drumlie wave.

II.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasure I enjoy'd;

But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.

Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,
I bear a heart shall support me still.

The Poet was some seventeen years old when he wrote this melancholy song. The early days of Burns were typical of the latter. To-day, lively-to-morrow, desponding: depressed in the morning by labor, he brightened up as the sun went down, and was ready for "a cannie hour" with the lass of his love

-for a song vehemently joyous with his comrades--or a mason-meeting, where care was discharged, and merriment abounded.

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.

Tune.--" Invercald's Reel."

CHORUS.

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye wad na been sae shy;
For lack o' gear ye lightly me,
But, trouth, I care na by.

YESTREEN I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like sto ure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean,
That looks sae proud and high.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would nae gie her in her sark,
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;
Ye need na look sae high.

This is one of the earliest of the Poet's compositions. The Tibbie wha" spak na, but gaed by like stoure," was the daughter, it is said, of a portioner of Kyle-a man with three acres of peat moss-an inheritance which she thought entitled her to treat a landless wooer with disdain. The Bard was very young when this adventure happened, and perhaps she neither looked for sweet song nor such converse as maidens love from one of such tender years.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.
Tune." The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0."

I.

My father was a farmer

Upon the Carrick border, O,

And carefully he bred me

In decency and order, O;

He bade me act a manly part,

Though I had ne'er a farthing, 0;
For without an honest manly heart,
No man was worth regarding, O.

II.

Then out into the world

My course I did determine, O;
Tho' to be rich, was not my wish,
Yet to be great was charming, O:

My talents, they were not the worst,
Nor yet my education, O;
Resolv'd was I, at least to try,
To mend my situation, O.

III.

In many a way, and vain essay,
I courted fortune's favor, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between,
To frustrate each endeavor, O:
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ;
Sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the top,
I still was worst mistaken, O.

IV.

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last,
With fortune's vain delusion, 9,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams,
And came to this conclusion, O:
The past was bad, and the future hid ;
Its good or ill untried, O;

But the present hour was in my pow'r,
And so I would enjoy it, O.

No help,

Nor

V.

nor hope, nor view had I, person to befriend me, O; So I must toil, and sweat and broil, And labor to sustain me, 0: To plough and sow, to reap and mow, My father bred me early, O;

For one, he said, to labor bred,
Was a match for fortune, fairly, O.

VI.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor,
Thro' life I'm doom'd to wander O,
Till down my weary bones I lay,
In everlasting slumber, O.

No view nor care, but shun whate'er
Might breed me pain or sorrow, O:
I live to-day as well's I may,
Regardless of to-morrow, O.
VII.

But cheerful still, I am as well,
As a monarch in a palace, O,
Tho' fortune's frown still hunts me down,
With all her wonted malice, 0:
I make indeed my daily bread,

But ne'er can make it farther, O;
But, as daily bread is all I need,
I do not much regard her, O.

VIII.

When sometimes by my labor
I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune
Comes gen'rally upon me, O :
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,
Or my goodnatur'd folly, O;
But come what will, I've sworn it still,
I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.
IX.

All you who follow wealth and power
With unremitting ardor, O,

The more in this you look for bliss,
You leave your view the farther, O:

Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
Or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful-honest-hearted clown
I will prefer before you, O.

Little poetic fervor found its way into this chaunt; yet it abounds with manly sentiments, and exhibits fortitude of mind amid the sorrows of the disastrous year 1784.-" The following song," says the Poet, "is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient