ROSLIN CASTLE.

'Twas in that season of the year

When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.

Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nannie rung;
While Roslin castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.

Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring
With rapture warms, awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song:
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay;
O! bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!

O hark, my love! on ev'ry spray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng,
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let my raptured notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.

O come, my

love! thy Colin's lay

With rapture calls, O come away!

Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.

O! hither haste, and with thee bring

That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,

And charm this ravish'd breast of mine!

This song is attributed to a youth of the name of Richard Hewit, sometime amanuensis and companion to Dr. Blacklock. During the period of the blind poet's residence in Cumberland, Hewit led him about; and, on quitting his service, addressed some verses to his friend, in which he alludes to the narrative ballads and songs with which the country people cheer their firesides, and of which he was himself a faithful rehearser. Of the author I am sorry I can give no further account. The old ballads which he loved to repeat have sunk into oblivion with him, unless some of them had the good fortune to meet the eye of Sir Walter Scott.

FAIREST OF THE FAIR.

O Nannie, wilt thou gang

wi' me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town; Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lowly cot and russet gown?

Nae langer drest in silken sheen,
Nae langer deck'd wi' jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nannie, when thou'rt far awa',
Wilt thou not cast a look behind?
Say, canst thou face the flaky snaw,
Nor shrink before the warping wind?
O can that saft and gentlest mien

Severest hardships learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nannie, canst thou love so true,

Through perils keen wi' me to gae? Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,

To share with him the pang of wae? And when invading pains befall,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor wishful those gay scenes recall, Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?
And wilt thou o'er his much-lov'd clay
Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear?
Nor then regret those scenes so gay,

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

This very natural and charming song has been welcomed in Scotland as one of its own productions; and indeed in language and feeling it is quite northern. The imitation of the songs of Caledonia is as happy as any of the Bishop of Dromore's English productions. As a compensation to our southern friends for admitting this lyric among those of the north, I shall exclude many Anglo-Scottish productions which for some time have mingled with ours. No English poet has caught up the language and the character of our national songs with such happiness and skill as Percy; and I believe no poet and critic has rendered such essential benefit to the literature of the island. The publication of the Reliques of English Poetry recalled the taste of the country to the simple and the natural, and exposed the poverty of the cold and glittering style which came, with other fashions, from abroad.

THE LEA RIG.

Will ye gang o'er the lea rig,
My ain kind dearie-o;
And cuddle there fu' kindly
Wi' me, my kind dearie-o?
At thorny bush, or birken tree,
We'll daff, and never weary-0;
They'll scug ill e'en frae you and me,
My ain kind dearie-o.

Nae herd wi' kent or colly there
Shall ever come to fear ye-o;
But laverocks whistling in the air
Shall woo, like me, their dearie-o.
While ithers herd their lambs and ewes,
And toil for warld's gear, my jo,
Upon the lee my pleasure grows
Wi' thee, my kind dearie-o.

At gloamin', if my lane I be,
Oh, but I'm wondrous eerie-o;

And mony a heavy sigh I gie,

When absent frae my dearie-o:
But seated 'neath the milk-white thorn,
In ev'ning fair and clearie-o,

Enraptur'd, a' my cares I scorn,
Whan wi' my kind dearie-o.