SONG.* OUT over the Forth I look to the north, But what is the north and its Highlands to me? The south nor the east gie ease to my breast, The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea. But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be; For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, LINES ON A PLOUGHMAN. As I was a wand'ring ae morning in spring, The Of this exquisite ballad the last verse only is printed in Dr Currie's Edition.-He did not know that the opening stanza existed. E. The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest, And mount to the air wi' the dew on her breast;* And wi' the merry Ploughman she'll whistle and sing, And at night she'll return to her nest back again. I'LL It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy which shew the sons of genius to be of one kindred.-In the following passage from the poem of his countryman, the same figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity; and never were the tender and the sublime of poetry more happily united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the memory of Burns: "Thou, simple bird," "Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home "The humblest; yet thy morning song ascends ¦ () "Nearest to Heaven;-sweet emblem of his song,t "Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side!" 1 Grahame's Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. iv. + Burns. I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. I'LL ay ca' in by yon town, And by yon garden green, again; I'll ay ca' in by yon town, And see my bonie Jean again. There's nane sall ken, there's nane sall guess, What brings me back the gate again, But she my fairest faithfu' lass, And stownlins* we sall meet again. She'll wander by the aiken tree, WHISTLE Stownlins-By stealth. + Trystin-time-The time of appointment. WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. FIRST when Maggy was my care, Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, How we live, my Meg and me, I could write-but Meg maun see't- YOUNG YOUNG JOCKEY. YOUNG Jockey was the blythest lad My Jockey toils upon the plain, Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw; And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. An' ay the night comes round again, An' ay he vows he'll be my ain M'PHERSON'S *The Gaud-at the Plough. |