I said, My lassie, dinna cry,

For ye ay

shall make the bed to me.

She took her mither's holland sheets,
And made them a' in sarks to me;
Blithe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me.
The bonny lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me;
I'll ne'er forget, till the day I die,

The lass that made the bed to me.

Burns found an old, lively, and unceremonious song, and adopting its narrative, and retaining many of the lines, and preserving something of the stamp and impress of the old, he produced the present lyric. It is not yet quite so pure as it ought to be; but it is far too beautiful to cast away, and too peculiar to alter with much hope of success. The original song, tradition says, was occasioned by an intrigue which Charles the Second had with a Scottish lady before the battle of Worcester. I have heard a much earlier origin ascribed to it :-the peasantry believe it to be one of the compositions of King James the Fifth, in which he embodied some of his own nocturnal adventures.

IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU' KING.

It was a' for our rightfu' king
We left fair Scotland's strand!

It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,

An' a' is done in vain :

My love an' native land, fareweel!

For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right an' round about
Upon the Irish shore,

An' ga'e his bridle-reins a shake,

With, adieu for evermore, my dear!
With, adieu for evermore!

The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;

But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear,
Never to meet again.

When day is gane, an' night is come,

An' a' folk bound to sleep,

I think on him that's far awa'

The lee-lang night, an' weep, my dear,
The lee-lang night, an' weep.

Tradition ascribes this song to Captain Ogilvie, of the house of Inverquharity, who accompanied King James to Ireland, and fought bravely at the battle of the Boyne. He was one of some hundreds of lowland Scottish gentlemen who voluntarily exiled themselves, and perished by famine and the sword, in the cause of the house of Stuart. Many of them served as common soldiers, and were slain in the wars of aliens in Spain and on the Rhine, while others followed the miserable fortunes of their master, and perished by a consumer as sure and effectual as the sword-disappointed hope. In 1696 only sixteen were left alive: nor did these men fight from a blind religious devotion; only four were Catholics, the rest were members of the Church of England, and some of them had been divines. Every revolution has its stories of sorrow and of wrong; perhaps that of 1688 has less human misery to answer for than any other on record.

THE HUMBLE BEGGAR.

In Scotland there lived a humble beggar,
He had neither house nor hald nor hame,
But he was weel liked by ilka body,

And they gave him sunkets to rax his wame.
A nievefou' o' meal, a handfou' o' groats,
A dad o' a bannock or pudding bree,

Cauld porridge, or the lickings of plates,

Wad make him as blythe as a bodie could be.

A humbler bodie O never brake bread,
For the feint a bit of pride had he;
He wad hae ta'en his alms in a bicker
Frae gentle or semple, or poor bodie.
His wallets afore and ahint did hing

In as good order as wallets could be;
A lang-kale goolie hung down by his side,
And a meikle nowte-horn to rowt on had he.

It happened ill, and it happened warse—
For it happened sae that he did die;
And wha d' ye think was at his lyke-wauk
But lads and lasses of high degree?

Some were merry and some were sad,

And some were as blythe as blythe could be, When he started, the gruesome carle, up I rede ye, good folks, beware o' me!

Out scraiched Kate, wha sat in the nook,-
Vow now, kimmer! and how do ye?
He ca'd her waur than witch and limmer, ¡A
And rugget and tugget her cockernonie.
They howket his grave in Douket's kirkyard O

Twa ell deep, for I gade to see, I looł‚ba^.
But when they were gaun to put him in the yird,
The feint a dead nor dead was he

They brought him down to Douket's kirkyard —
He a dunt, and the boards did flee,
And when they gade to lay him in the gravé,

gae

In fell the coffin and out lap he!

He cryed I'm cauld! I'm unco cauld!" oc'A
Fu' fast ran they, and fu' fast ran he;
But he was first hame at his ain ingle-side,
And he helped to drink his ain dredgie. Y

This song is certainly a very old one, though it appeared for the first time in David Herd's collection. The hero seems to have been a kind of martial mendicant, who obtained alms by other means than intercession; his horn and his kale goolie made the impatience of his friends for his interment very justifiable. The joy and the sorrow at his lyke-wake is a very just picture of other times, when, according to the proverb, more mirth was found at the end of a funeral than at the beginning of a wedding.