WHO'S AT MY WINDOW.

O, who's at my window, now, now?
Who whispers so softly, who, who?
I'm sleepy, I'm wearie,

And, worse, I am eerie,

And my mother is watching below, below,
And my mother is watching below.

O go from my window, go, go;

0 go from my window, love, do: Who loves me in the night

Will love me in the light;

So come in the sunshine, and woo, and woo,

So come in the sunshine and woo.

Gin ye be a true love of mine,

O wave thy white hand for a sign;
Wi' the sleet in my hair,

I've come ten miles and mair

For a word of that sweet tongue o' thine, o' thine,

And a glance o' thy dark eye divine.

Know ye what a lover maun dree?

O come to thy window and see:
Thou rain, in thy dashing,

Thou fire, in thy flashing,

Thou wind, shaking turret and tree, and tree

O speak to my fair one for me!

O come to my chamber, love, do ;

The

way

all with rushes I'll strew

A kind heart shall warm thee,

A sweet tongue shall charm thee;

O come to my chamber, love, now, love, now,
O come to my chamber, love, do!

No one, I hope, will suppose that this song is written to supply the place of the old lyric with the same name which Wedderburn sought to supplant. Innumerable verses of this measure are scattered over the south of Scotland; but few of them are worth collecting for their poetry.

There's mirth in the barn and the ha', the ha',
There's mirth in the barn and the ha':

There's quaffing and laughing,

And dancing and daffing;

And our young bride's daftest of a', of a',

And our young bride's daftest of a'.

These lines have no antique sound-but they contain

a lively image of bridal festivity and freedom.

LANGSYNE.

When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trode on thirty years,

I sought my lang lost hame again,
Wi' mony hopes and fears.

Wha kens, if the dear friends I left
Will ay continue mine?

Or, if I e'er again shall see
The friends I left langsyne?

As I came by my father's tow'rs,
My heart lap a' the way;
Ilk thing I saw put me in mind
O' some dear former day:
The days that follow'd me afar,
Those happy days o' mine,

Which

gars me think the joys at hand Are naething to langsyne.

These ivy'd towers now met my e'e,

Where minstrels us'd to blaw;

Nae friend came forth wi' open arms-
Nae weel kenn'd face I saw ;
Till Donald totter'd frae the door,
Whom I left in his prime,

And grat to see the lad come back

He bore about langsyne.

I ran thro' every weel kenn'd room,

In hopes to meet friends there;
I saw where ilk ane us'd to sit,
And hang o'er ilka chair:
Till warm remembrance' gushing tear
Did dim these een o' mine;

I steek'd the door and sobb'd aloud
As I thought on langsyne.

Of all the "Langsynes" which have appeared since the famous "Langsyne" of Burns, this seems by far the most beautiful. I have ventured, however, to cut away the concluding verse, which weakened the impression of the overpowering image presented in the fourth. I am sorry I cannot name the author.

TIBBIE RODAN.

The gallant lads of Gallowa,

The lads frae far Corehead to Hoddom,
The merry lads of green Nithsdale,
Are a' come wooing Tibbie Rodan.
Tweedshaw's tarry nieves are here;

The braksha lairds of Moffatt water,
The blithesome Bells, the Irvings good,
Are come to count her gear and daut her.

I mind her weel in plaiden gown,

Before she heir'd her uncle's coffer;

The gleds might howk'd out her gray een,
And ne'er a lad hae shored them off her.
Now she's got a bawsant nag,

Graithing sewed with gowd and siller;
Silken sonks to haud her doup,

And half the country's trysting till her.

I wadna gie twa rosie lips,

With breath like mixed milk and honey,
Which i' the gloaming dew I kiss'd,
For Tibbie, wi' a mine o' money.

I wadna gie the haffet locks,

With scented dew all richly drappin,
Which lay yestreen upon my breast,
For Tibbie, wi' her lady-happin.

Of this scion from the universal favourite, Tibbie Fowler, some of the slips may be worth preserving:

Sour plums are gude wi' sugar baked

Slaes are sweet wi' kames o' hinnie;

The bowltest carlin i' the land,

Gowd can make her straught an' bonnie.

A ruder and earlier copy was printed in Cromek's volume, and many variations might be given, but they would be more curious than excellent.