THE DARIEN SONG. We will go, maidens, go To the lonesome woods and mourn, Where the primroses blow, Till our gallant lads return: Till from Darien's sunny land We shall welcome back again That young and goodly companie That ventured o'er the main. We will go, lady, go To the lonesome wood wi' thee; Though chill the winds should blow, While those weary days we dree. Our lovers' banners proudly waved As they sailed o'er the faemAlas! when will that sweet wind blow Will waft our gallants hame? O there were white hands waved, sail : And stretched the snowy And many a parting sign, Away they went to spread our fame Along the boundless brine. You may go, maidens, go Your weary days to dree, But I shall never see you more With watching will your eyes be dim, For never will the lads you love From Darien's shore return. "On the 26th of July, 1698, the whole city of Edinburgh poured down upon Leith, to see the colony depart amid the tears and prayers of relations and friends, and of their countrymen. Neighbouring nations, with a mixture of surprise and respect, saw the poorest kingdom of Europe sending forth the most gallant and most numerous colony that had ever gone from the Old to the New World."-Sir J. Dalrymple's Remains. The sordid policy of foreign powers, and the treachery of King William, united to ruin the famous Scottish colony of Darien. For nearly half a century, the cruel extinction of this young colony, and the infamous murder of the people of Glenco, were considered, in Scotland, as national grievances, of which the house of Stuart long held out the hope of redress or revenge. This beautiful song expresses very meekly the fears and feelings of the nation. LOCH-ERROCH SIDE. As I came by Loch-Erroch side, How kind her looks, how blest was I, I heed not care nor fortune's frowns, For nought but death shall move me : But faithful, loving, true, and kind We'll leave the fair Loch-Erroch side, This song is supposed to be the composition of James Tytler, author of " The Bonnie Brucket Lassie." It is copied from Johnson's Musical Museum, where it stands side by side with a song on the same subject by Burns. It wants the original merit of Tytler's other fine song; but original merit is a matter of great rarity, and most of our modern songs only re-echo, in softer language and smoother numbers, the lively and graphic strains of our ancestors. In truth, many of our latter lyrics are made from the impulse of other songs, rather than from the native feelings of the heart-and lyric love and heroism are felt through the medium of verse, when they should come warm and animated from the bosom. THE CUCKOO. Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove' Thou messenger of spring! What time the daisy decks the green VOL. III. Y Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet The schoolboy, wandering through the wood Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal vale, Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! The oldest English song yet published is in praise of the Cuckoo-it is very natural and very curious and very authentic |