n For I have vowed a virgin's vow,

My lover's fate to share,
Isa!. And he has gi'en to me his heart,

And what can man do mair?

His mind and manners wan my heart,

He gratefu' took the gift,
And did I wish to seek it back,

It wad be waur than theft.
For langest life can ne'er repay

The love he bears to me
And ere I'm forced to break my faith,

I'll lay me down and die.

This is not an old song; yet its sweetness and beauty and popularity have not induced the author to claim it. It made its first appearance about six-and-thirty years ago, and has maintained a place among the national songs, after submitting to a few unimportant emendations. The name of the lover was Donald at first-and so let it remain : but like Sandy in our lowland songs, it personates a people rather than an individual, and all such names should be avoided in either tender or pathetic poetry.

LOGIE OF BUCHAN.

O Logie of Buchan, it's Logie the laird,
He's ta’en awa' Jamie wha delved in the yard,
Wha played on the pipe and the viol sae sma'-
He has ta'en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'!

Keep up yere heart, lassie, though I'm gaun awa'-
O think na lang, lassie, when I'm far awa';
For summer will come when cauld winter's awa',
And I'll come and see you in spite o' them a'!

Though Sandie has horses and houses and land, And Jamie has nought but his heart and his hand, Yet his look is my life, and his wish is my law ;They have ta’en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'!

My daddie looks sadly, my mother looks sour ;-
They mock me wi' Jamie, because he is poor:
But true love's too strong for weak duty to awe-
They hae ta’en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'!

I sit in the sunshine and spin on my wheel,
And think on the laddie who loves me sae weel;
And I think till my heart's fit to start into twa-
They hae ta’en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'!

Popular belief assigns this song to Lady Ann Lindsay; and it is every way worthy of the accomplished authoress of “ Auld Robin Gray.” Many liberties have been taken with the words: there are few songs which have undergone more changes within these forty years. The present version differs from all that precede it; and it seems to me to have increased in sweetness and simplicity. The story of the song

is very simple, and is generally felt, because it is true.Some forty years ago, in the north country, oppressors like “ Logie the laird” were not wanting, to dispose of the surplus youth of the district to the army or the plantations; and many moving stories might be told of such acts of tyranny and injustice.

THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER.

In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia we come:
When the Romans endeavour'd our country to gain,
O our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain.

Such is our love of liberty, our country, and our laws,
That, like our ancestors of old, we'll stand in freedom's

cause : We'll bravely fight, like heroes bold, for honour and

applause, And defy the French, with all their force, to alter our

No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace;
No luxurious tables enervate our race" 1". ft;"*k1 ?
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial straint,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain.”,

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale,
And swift as the roe which the hound doth assail ;
As the full moon in autumn our shields do appear ;
Ev'n Minerva would dread to encounter our spear.

As a storm in the ocean, when Boreas blows,
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes;
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks,
Dash the force of our foes with our thundering strokes.

Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France,
In their strength fondly boasted till we did advance;
But when our claymores they saw us produce,
Their courage did fail, and they sued for a truce.

In our realm may the fury of faction long cease,
May our councils be wise and our commerce increase,
And in Scotia’s cold climate may each of us find,
That our friends still prove true, and our beauties prove

kind.

Sir Harry Erskine of Torry wrote this song, and the fine air has combined with national vanity to give greater popularity to the words than they seem to merit. There is a good deal of animation and some pedantry-a great

love of country and a moderate love of truth, and an enthusiasm which carries patriotism into bombast. A wish his praise of our valour had been more modest, and his account of our exploits more discreet. It was printed by David Herd in 1769, and the music was added by General Reid. More natural strains and more accurate praise have succeeded in rendering this far-famed song less a favourite than heretofore.

The smiling plains, profusely gay,
Are drest in all the pride of May;
The birds, on every spray above,
To rapture wake the vocal grove;
But, ah! Miranda, without thee,
Nor spring nor summer smiles on me;
All lonely in the secret shade
I mourn thy absence, charming maid !

O soft as love! as honour fair!
Serenely sweet as vernal air !
Come to my arms; for thou alone
Canst all my absence past atone.
O come! and to my bleeding heart
The sovereign balm of love impart;