While clover blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield ;1
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,"

Says, "I'll be wed, come o't what will:"
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild 3–
"O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

"It's ye hae wooers mony ane,

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,4
A routhie butt, a routhie ben: 5
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonny hen,
It's plenty beats the luver's fire."

"For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen,
I dinna care a single flee;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe's the blink o' Robbie's ee,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:
Ae blink o' him I wadna gie

For Buskie Glen and a' his gear."

"Oh, thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu'-hant is fechtin' best,

A hungry care's an unco care:

.6

But some will spend, and some will spare,
And wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.'

"Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ;
But the tender heart o' leesome 8 luve
The gowd and siller canna buy;
We may be poor-Robbie and Í,
Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content and luve bring peace and joy-

What mair hae queens upon a throne?"

FAIR ELIZA.

THIS was another unsuccessful attempt, on the part of the poet, to advance the

love suit of a friend.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,
Ae kind blink before we part,
Rue on thy despairing lover!

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;
If to love thy heart denies,

For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise!

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe;
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,
Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon
Not the poet, in the moment
Fancy lightens in his ee,

Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me.

OH, LUVE WILL VENTURE IN.

Tune-"The Posie."

Oн, luve will venture in

Where it daurna weel be seen;

Oh, luve will venture in

Where wisdom ance has been ;

But I will down yon river rove,
Amang the wood sae green-
And a' to pu' a posie

To my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu',

The firstling of the year;

And I will pu' the pink,
The emblem o' my dear;

For she's the pink o' womankind,

And blooms without a peer—

And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose,

When Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a baumy kiss
O' her sweet, bonny mou';
The hyacinth's for constancy,
Wi' its unchanging blue-
And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure,

And the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom
I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity,
And unaffected air-
And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu',
Wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an aged man,
It stands at break of day.

But the songster's nest within the bush
I winna tak away-
And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu',

When the evening star is near,

And the diamond draps o' dew

Shall be her een sae clear;

The violet's for modesty,

Which weel she fa's to wear

And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round

Wi' the silken band of love,
And I'll place it in her breast,

And I'll swear by a' above,

That to my latest draught o' life

The band shall ne'er remove

And this will be a posie

To my ain dear May.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

Tune-"The Eight Men of Moidart."

WE are indebted to Cunningham for an account of the heroine of this song "She was the wife of a farmer who lived near Burns at Ellisland. She was very singular woman: 'tea,' she said, 'would be the ruin of the nation; sugar was a sore evil; wheaten bread was only fit for babes; earthenware was pickpocket; wooden floors were but fit for thrashing upon; slated roofs, cold.

feathers, good enough for fowls;' in short, she abhorred change, and, whenever anything new appeared, such as harrows with iron teeth-'Ay, ay,' she would exclaim, 'ye'll see the upshot!' Of all modern things she disliked china most; she called it 'brunt clay,' and said it was only fit for 'haudin' the broo o' stinkin' weeds,' as she called tea. On one occasion, a southern dealer in cups and saucers asked so much for his ware that he exasperated a peasant, who said, 'I canna buy, but I ken ane that will:' 'Gang there,' said he, pointing to the house of Willie's wife :-'dinna be blate or burd-mouthed; ask a guid penny-she has the siller.' Away went the poor dealer, spread out his wares before her, and summed up all by asking a double price. A blow from her cummock was his instant reward, which not only fell on his person, but damaged his china-'I'll learn ye,' quoth she, as she heard the saucers jingle, 'to come wi' yer brazent English face, and yer bits o' brunt clay to me!""

1 Weaver.

WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doodie;
Willie was a wabster1 guid,

Could stown a clue wi' ony bodie:
He had a wife was dour and din,

Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

She has an ee-she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye3 a stump,
A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller;
A whiskin' beard about her mou',

Her nose and chin they threaten ither-
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wadna gie a button for her.

* She wines her mouth with an old stocking.

SMILING SPRING COMES IN REJOICING.

Tune-"The Bonny Bell."

THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly Winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonny blue are the sunny skies;

Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The evening gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonny 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 adore my bonny Bell.

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

Tune-"The Weavers' March."

WHERE Cart* rins rowin' to the sea,
By mony a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,1
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,2
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in summer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

1 Lose.

*The Cart is a river in Renfrewshire.

2 Marriage-deed.