LAST MAY, A BRAW WOOER.

Last May, a braw wooer came down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me:

I said there was naething I hated like men,

The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me,
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.

He spake o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;

I said he might die when he liked for Jean:
But Gude forgie me for lying, for lying,
But Gude forgie me for lying!

A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers;

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or car'd,

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!

He

up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear

her,

Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there!
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I gae
him a blink,
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I speer'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,

And how my auld shoon fitted her shauchled feet-
Gude save us! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,
Gude save us! how he fell a swearin.

He begged, for Gudesake! I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

The old song of "The Queen of the Lothians came cruising to Fife" had some share in the composition of this admirable lyric. It furnished the measure, the subject, and the general outline of the story; but it is bald, meagre, and unembellished; there are no sallies of

wit, no seasonings of humour, and no varieties of incident in it. The conclusion can bear quoting:

The mither cried butt the house, Jockie! come here,
Ye've naething to do but the question to speer:
The question was speered, and the bargain was struck,
The neighbours came in and wished them good luck.

Dalgarnock, now incorporated with Closeburn, was the name of a small and beautiful little parish, extending along the banks of the Nith; its ruined kirk and lonesome burial ground are often visited by the old people of the neighbourhood-human affection clings anxiously to paternal dust. It was here that "Old Mortality" was found repairing the martyr's tombstones; and in the vicinity is Creehope-linn, which gave many a Cameronian shelter, and afforded refuge to Burley when he fought single-handed with Satan. Burns, in the course of his song, employs a proverbial expression in a way which persuades me that he did not understand it. When a lady dismisses her lover, the unfortunate swain is called her "auld shoon" --she wore him while she pleased, and then put him off. For one girl to wear the "auld shoon" of another is, in the rude figurative language of the peasantry, to accept the addresses of the other's discarded lover. In this the vaunt in an old song is explained :

may

Ye
How he gets but my auld shoon.

tell the coof that gets her,

way

In Burns, the first inquiry of the lady for her cousin Bess is sufficiently malicious :

I speer'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin.

But the next question is utterly unintelligible—“ and how her new shoon suited her shauchled feet❞—unless we suppose that she meant to insinuate only that the feet of her cousin were " shauchled," or ill formed. By a slight alteration, I have made the line allude satirically to her cousin's situation with the discarded lover; and I imagine I have restored it to the sense which Burns intended.

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST?

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast,

On yonder lea, on yonder lea?

My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.

Or did misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,

Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,
The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

In Burns's manuscripts, among which this sweet little song was found, it is called " Address to a Lady." The repetitions of the second, fourth, sixth, and eighth lines of each verse make it echo the air of "The Lass of Livingstone."

ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.

How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad?
How can I the thought forego,
He's on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are with him that's far away.