The smile gade aff her bonnie face

I maunna leave my mammy.

She's gi'en me meat, she's gi'en me claise,
She's been my comfort a' my days :-
My father's death brought monie waes-
I canna leave my mammy.

We'll tak her hame and mak her fain,
My ain kind-hearted Lammie!
We'll gie her meat, we'll gie her claise,
We'll be her comfort a' her days.

The wee thing gie's her hand, and says,-
There! gang and ask my mammy.

Has she been to the kirk wi' thee,

My boy Tammy?

She has been to the kirk wi' me,

And the tear was in her e'e:

But O! she's but a young thing,

Just come frae her mammy.

Tammie has been praised for his singleness of heart; the Lammie for her simplicity; and the old woman for kindliness of nature and warmth of affection. I cannot feel that all this is deserved: the simplicity of Macneill is without manliness; his lovers are somewhat conceited and silly; and their language belongs to that period which precedes the dawn of love. The following ludicrous variation was often sung along with the song, and passed with many for a part of it :—

How auld may thy young thing be,
My boy Tammie?

How auld may thy young thing be,

My kind hearted Lammie?
She's twice six, twice seven,
Twice twenty and eleven ;
Yet she's but a young thing

Just come frae her mammie.

This verse holds a riddle within it which I once heard solved: some of my readers may be able to pick the loop of the rustic enigma.

THE AULD MAN.

But lately seen in gladsome green
The woods rejoice the day,

Through gentle showers the laughing flowers

In double pride were gay:

But now our joys are fled

On winter blasts awa!
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe

Shall melt the snaws of age;

My trunk of eild, but buss or bield,

Sinks in time's wintry rage.

VOL. IV.

F

Oh, age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain!

Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,

Why com'st thou not again!

Burns wrote the Auld Man in one of those moments when he was, to use his own glowing words—

On the past too fondly pondering,
O'er the hapless future wandering.

But weary days of old age and nights of sleepless pain he was not doomed to suffer. The song was composed to an East Indian air: it has never been a favourite. Youth wishes to enjoy the golden time upon its hands, and age is far from fond of chanting of declining strength, white pows, and general listlessness.

ANNIE.

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi:
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready:

I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony;
And the wild-wood echoes rang-

ay

O, dearly do I love thee, Annie!

O, happy be the woodbine bower,

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said, I'm thine for ever!
While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,
The simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery through her shortening day
Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or through each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

"I walked out with the Museum," says Burns, " in my hand; and turning up Allan Water,' the words. appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air: so I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn till I wrote one to suit the measure. The ancient name of the tune, Ramsay says, is Allan Water,' or My love Annie's very bonnie:' this last has certainly been a line of the original song. So I took up the idea, and as you will see have introduced the line in its place." Burns was certainly correct in his conjecture, that the line which gave a name to Ramsay's song belonged to an old lyric. The Allan is a northern stream; and Benledi is a mountain west of Strathallan, three thousand and nine feet high.

BONNIE BELL.

The smiling spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly winter grimly flies:
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountain breaks forth the morning,
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell :
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery spring leads sunny summer,
And yellow autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,
Till smiling spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old time and nature their changes tell;
But never ranging, still unchanging,

I once saw a copy of this beautiful song, to which some weak hand had added a couple of strange stanzas. They were out of all keeping with the character of Burns's verses; and the peasantry for whose acceptance they had been composed soon separated the impure clay from the beaten gold.