SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang; She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, A coof cam in with routh o' gear, Whae'er ye be that woman love, O woman, lovely woman, fair! BONNIE BELL THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; The flowry Spring leads sunny Summer, How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow: There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cut where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters ber snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. LOUIS, what reck I by thee, Or Geordie on his ocean; Dyvor beggar louns to me, Let her crown my love her law, And in her breast enthrone me: Kings and nations, swith awa! * In some editions sailor is substituted for weaver. FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. My heart is sair, I dare nae tell, I could range the world around, Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, I wad do-what wad I not, O do thou kindly lay me low With him I love at rest! O MAY, THY MORN. O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, And private was the chamber: And here's to them, that like oursel, THE LOVELY LASS OF INVER. NESS. THE lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en and morn she cries, alas! And aye the saut tear blins her e'e: Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me; For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding sheet the bloody clay, Their graves are growing green to see ; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON. Tune-" Finlayston House." FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, By cruel hands the sapling drops, The mother linnet in the brake O WHAT YE WHAS IN YON TOWN. O WHAT ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'ening sun upon, The fairest dame's in yon town, That e'ening sun is shining on. Now haply down yon gay green shaw, She wanders by yon spreading tree; How blest ye flow'rs that mind her blaw, Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. How blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year, And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Lucy dear. The sun blinks blythe on yon town, And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. Without my love, not a' the charms, O' paradise could yield me joy; But gie me Lucy in my arms, And welcome Lapland's dreary sky. My cave wad be a lover's bower, O sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon; A fairer than's in yon town, His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry fate has sworn my foe, Variation. Now looking over firth and fauld, A stern and stalwart ghaist appear'd. This poem, an imperfect copy of which was printed in Johnson's Museum, is here given from the poet's MS. with his last corrections. The scenery so finely described is taken from nature. The poet is supposed to be musing by night on the banks of the river Cluden, and by the ruins of Lincluden-Abbey, founded in the twelfth century, in the reign of Malcolm IV. of whose present situation the reader may find some account in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, or Grose's Antiquities of that division of the island. Such a time and such a place are well fitted for holding converse with aerial beings. Though this poem has a political bias, yet it may be presumed that no reader of taste, whatever his opinions may be, would forgive it being omitted. Our poet's prudence suppressed the song of Liberty, perhaps fortu. nately for his reputation. It may be questioned whe ther, even in the resources of his genius, a strain of poetry could have been found worthy of the grandeur and solemnity of this preparation. They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside: She took to her bills and her arrows let fly, The daring invaders they fled or they died. The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore ;t The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky, O'er countries and kingdoms their fury preYour course to the latest is bright. vail'd, The Romans. +The Saxons. The Danes. Two famous battles, in which the Danes or Norwe gians were defeated. The Highlanders of the Isles. This singular figure of poetry, taken from the mathematics, refers to the famous proposition of Pythe square of the hypothenuse is always equal to the thagoras, the 47th of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, squares of the two other sides. THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS WRITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. KIND sir, I've read your paper through, Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't; If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang But wi' miscarriage? In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives; Eschylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; Wee Pope, the knurlin, 'till him rives Horatian fame; In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives Even Sappho's flame. But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches; Squire Pope but busks his skinlin patches O' heathen tatters: I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, That ape their betters. In this braw age o' wit and lear, And wi' the far-famed Grecian share Yes! there is ane; a Scottish callan ! Thou paints auld nature to the nines, In gowany glens thy burnie strays, Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes; Or trots by hazelly shaws or braes, Wi' hawthorns gray, Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays At close o' day. Thy rural loves are nature's sel; That charm that can the strongest quell, |