AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE.

AND ye shall walk in silk attire,
And siller ha'e to spare,

Gin ye'll consent to be his bride,
Nor think o' Donald mair.
Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun
Wi' a puir broken heart?
Or what's to me a siller croun,
Gin frae my love I part?

The mind wha's every wish is pure
Far dearer is to me;

And ere I'm forced to break my faith,
I'll lay me doun and dee:

For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth
Brave Donald's fate to share ;
And he has gi'en to me his heart,

Wi' a' its virtues rare.

His gentle manners wan my heart,
He gratefu' took the gift;
Could I but think to tak' it back,
It wad be waur than theft.
For langest life can ne'er repay
The love he bears to me;

And ere I'm forced to break my troth
I'll lay me doun and dee!

THE NABOB.

WHEN silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,

I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears.

Wha kens gin the dear friends I left
May still continue mine?

Or gin I e'er again shall taste
The joys I left langsyne?

As I drew near my ancient pile,
My heart beat a' the way;

Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak

O' some dear former day :

:

Those days that followed me afar,

Those happy days o' mine,

Whilk made me think the present joys A' naething to langsyne.

The ivied tower now met my eye,
Where minstrels used to blaw;

Nae friend stepped forth wi' open hand,
Nae weel-kenned face I saw,

I conceited.

Till Donald tottered to the door,
Wham I left in his prime,
And grat to see the lad return
He bore about langsyne.

I ran to ilka dear friend's room,
As if to find them there;

I knew where ilk ane used to sit,
And hung o'er mony a chair;
Till soft remembrance threw a veil
Across these een o' mine-

I closed the door, and sobbed aloud,
To think on auld langsyne.

Some pensy1 chiels, a new-sprung race,
Wad next their welcome pay,
Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa's,
And wished my groves away.

"Cut, cut," they cried, "those aged elms,
Lay low yon mournfu' pine!"

"Na, na! our fathers' names grow there, Memorials o' langsyne."

To wean me fra these waefu' thoughts
They took me to the town,
But sair on ilka weel-kenned face
I missed the youthfu' bloom.
At balls they pointed to a nymph
Wham a' declared divine;

But sure her mother's blushing, cheeks
Were fairer far langsyne!

In vain I sought in music's sound
To find that magic art

Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays
Has thrilled through a' my heart.
The sang had mony an artfu' turn:
My ear confessed 'twas fine;
But missed the simple melody
I listened to langsyne.

Ye sons to comrades o' my youth,
Forgi'e an auld man's spleen,

Wha midst your gayest scenes still mourns
The days he ance has seen.

When time has passed, and seasons fled,

Your hearts will feel like mine;

And aye the sang will maist delight

That minds ye o' langsyne.

RICHARD HEWITT.

-1794.

Little is known of the author of what Burns termed "these beautiful verses" on Roslin Castle. While Dr. Blacklock resided in Cumberland, Hewitt, then a lad, was employed to lead the blind poet. He afterwards acted as Blacklock's amanuensis, and, on leaving his services finally, he addressed to him some verses, in a note to which he refers to his own habit of rehearsing the narrative ballads of the countryside. Hewitt subsequently became secretary to Lord Milton. The air of "Roslin Castle" was at an early day known as "The House of Glammis." An earlier, anonymous song, with the same title of "Roslin Castle," was printed in Herd's Collection.

ROSLIN CASTLE.

'Twas in that season of the year
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.
Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung:
The hills and dales with Nanny rung;
While Roslin Castle heard the swain,
And echoed back his cheerful strain.

Awake, sweet Muse! The breathing Spring
With rapture warms: awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,

And hail the morning with a song.