nications to the latter consist of old songs, with amended and additional verses-of choruses and other snatches of the olden minstrelsy, eked out and completed in their own peculiar spirit-and of original songs, wholly from his own hand, and mostly published with his name annexed. Some of these amended strains are of great beauty, and many of the original songs are unequalled for pathos and spirit. The editor has observed something like chronological order of composition in the arrangement, and added notes explanatory or illustrative, in which scraps of ancient or contemporary song have been introduced, as often as they afforded light to the accompanying strains of the Poet.

HANDSOME NEL L.

Tune.-"I am a man unmarried."

O ONCE I lov'd a bonnie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;

And whilst that honour warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonnie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.

A bonnie lass I will confess

Is pleasant to the e'e,

But without some better qualities

She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet,

And what is best of a',

Her reputation is complete,

And fair without a flaw.

She dresses ay sae clean and neat,

Both decent and genteel :

And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast

She reigns without control.

Of this song the Poet's own account is the best that can be given :-" For my own part, I never had the least inclination of turning poet till I once got heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were in a manner the spontaneous language of my heart. This composition was the first of my performances, and done at an early period of life, when my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity; unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a wicked world. The performance is, indeed, very puerile and silly, but I am always pleased with it, as it recals to my mind those happy days when my heart was yet honest, and my tongue was sincere. The subject of it was a young girl who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed on her. I not only had this opinion of her then, but I actually think so still, now that the spell is long since broken, and the enchantment at end."

LUCKLESS FORTUNE.

O RAGING fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
O raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow, O;
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow, 0.
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O;

But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.

Burns tells us that he attempted to compose an air in the true Scottish style; but was not master of the science of music 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 LA Y.

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 whirlwinds 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 labour, 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.