"These verses," says Burns, in his notes in the Musical Museum, 66 were composed on a charming girl-Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to James Mackittrick Adair, physician. She is sister to my worthy friend, Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of the Ayr; but was, at the time I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, in Clackmannan-shire, on the romantic banks of the little river Devon. I first heard the air from a lady in Inverness, and got the notes taken down for this work." The Poet, as has been intimated in his Life, was more than an admirer of this young lady; but she refused to be won by the charms of verse, having already set her heart upon a more favoured lover.

Weary Fa' pou, Duncan Grap.

Tune-Duncan Gray.

I.

WEARY fa' you, Duncan Gray-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
When a' the lave gae to their play,
Then I maun sit the lee lang day,
And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
And a' for the girdin o't.

II.

Bonnie was the Lammas moon-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Glowrin' a' the hills aboon-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

* The following is the original version of Duncan Gray.—

As I came in by Aberdeen,

Hech hey the girdin o't:

I met a lassie clad in green,

And that's the lang girdin o't; The brawest lass that e'er was seen She might compete wi' Venus queen, And by the glancin' o' her e'en,

I kent she knew the girdin o't.

My bonny lass, I then did say,
Hech hey the girdin o't:
How far hae ye to gang this way,
And that's the lang girdin o't?
Quickly then she answered me,
Hech hey the girdin o't;

I'm gaen three miles out ower the lea.
And that's the lang girdin o't.

Gin ye will gang alang wi' me,
Hech hey the girdin o't;
Sae weel's I like your companie,
And that's the lang girdin o't?
I said, wi' her I'd walk a mile,
And then I jumped ower a stile,

Gin she would tarry here awhile,
And dance wi' me the girdin o't.
We baith sat down upon the green,
Hech hey, the girdin o't;
Where we were neither heard nor seen,
And that's the lang girdin o't.
There I play'd her Duncan Gray,
Out ower the hills and far away;
The lassie smil'd on me right gay,
Then danc'd wi' me the girdin o't.
But when will we twa meet again?
Hech hey the girdin o't;
For o' your company I'm fain,
And that's the lang girdin o't.
Gin ye will play me Duncan Gray,
Out ower the hills and far away,
I will adore you night and day,
And that's the lang girdin o't.

There are two other stanzas, which, in deference to the taste of the age, we cannot give; they are like the majority of the songs of the olden time. The above is valuable only as illus. trating that freedom of manners and broad humour which prevailed among our ancestors. The version of Burns now entirely supersedes the original.

II.

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wat and weary;
Cast off the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie!

III.

I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will dress his o'erlay ;
I will mak my ploughman's bed,
And cheer him late and early.

IV.

I hae been east, I hae been west,
I hae been at Saint Johnston;
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.

V.

Snaw-white stockins on his legs,

And siller buckles glancin'; A guid blue bonnet on his headAnd O, but he was handsome!

VI.

Commend me to the barn-yard,
And the corn-mou, man;
I never gat my coggie fou,
Till I met wi the ploughman.
Then up wi' my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman!
Of a' the trades that I do ken,

Commend me to the ploughman.

The old words of this song are in Herd's collection; some of which have been adapted by Burns:

"The ploughman he's a bonnie lad,

And a' his wark's at leisure;

And when that he comes home at e'en
He kisses me wi' pleasure.

Up wi't now, my ploughman lad,
Up wi't now, my ploughman :
Of a' the lads that I do see,

Commend me to the ploughman.
Now the blooming spring comes on,
He taks his yoking early,
And whistling o'er the furrow'd land,
He goes to fallow clearly.

When my ploughman comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wet an' weary;

Cast aff the wet, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my deary.

I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will wash his o'erlay:

And I will make my ploughman's bed,

And cheer him late and early.

Plough you hill, and plough you dale,
And plough you faugh and fallow;

Wha winna drink the ploughman's health
He's but a dirty fallow."

Merry but, and merry ben,

Merry is my ploughman;

Of a' the lads that I do ken,.
Commend me to the ploughman."

Landlady, count the Lawin.

Tune-Hey Tutti, Taiti.

I.

LANDLADY, Count the lawin,
The day is near the dawin;
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys,
And I'm but jolly fou.
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-
Wha's fou now?

II.

Cog an' ye were aye fou, Cog an' ye were aye fou, I wad sit and sing to you, If ye were aye fou.

III.

Weel may ye a' be!
Ill may we never see!
God bless the king, boys,
And the companie!
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti—
Wha's fou now?

Two of the verses of this song are by Burns: the concluding stanza is taken from a political song composed when Charles XII. of Sweden threatened to unite with Russia, repair to England, and restore the line of the Stuarts. Two verses of this old strain are as follow:

"Here's to the king of Swede!
May fresh laurels crown his head;
Foul fall every sneaking blade,
That winna do't again.

When you hear the pipe soun's,
Tuttie tattie to the drums,

Up your swords and down your guns,
And at the loons again."

A far nobler strain, called "Hey now the day daues," is well known to every lover of Scot tish song: it is quoted by Gawin Douglas in his 13th prologue to the Scottish Virgil, and is mentioned by Dunbar :

"Hey now the day dauis,
The jollie cock crauis,
Now shrouds the shauis,
Throw nature anone.
The thissle-cock cryis
On lovers wha lyis,
Now skaillis the skyis,

The night is nigh gone."

But the old and true reading of the song, which bears the name, and to which Burns is indebted for part of the chorus and many of the ideas, is the following:

"Hey tutti, taittie,

Hey talarettie,

Hey my bonnie Mallie,

She's aye roarin' fou'.

the late Earl of Loudon." (He died suddenly of a broken heart, in the year 1786.) "Macof Ruara's Lament" is a Gaelic melody gregor of great beauty, force, and tenderness. It has been attempted in English :

"From the chase on the mountain

As I was returning,

By the side of a fountain

Malvina sat mourning;

To the winds that loud whistled
She told her sad story,
And the valleys re-echoed-
Macgregor a ruadhri !

Like a flash of red lightning

O'er the heath came Macara,
More fleet than the roebuck
On lofty Benlara ;
O, where is Macgregor ?

Say, where does he hover?
Thou son of bold Calmar,
Why tarries my lover?"

I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,

Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.

II.

When I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie,
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie!

And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie !

III.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary!
It was na sae ye glinted by

When I was wi' my dearie.
It was na sae ye glinted by

When I was wi' my dearie.

["Barns, during his excursions in the Highlands, threw himself in the way of the district musicians, and sought the acquaintance of all who were skilful in the native music. In this way he picked up many fine airs; and it has been remarked that he always selected the finest set of the air. Though not a musician himself, and scarcely a singer, he had a natural tact and taste which served him, instead of scientific acquirements, in judging of Scottish melodies. The air of this affecting song is true Highland: the Poet, as will be found, resumed the subject, and improved upon the first version." (See his Correspondence with Thomson, Oct. 19th, 1794.)—CUNNINGHAM.]

Burns composed these verses out of compliment to Mrs. M'Lauchlan, whose husband was an officer, at that period serving in the East Indies.

Blithe was She.

Tune-Andrew and his Cutty Gun.

CHORUS.

BLITHE, blithe, and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.

I.

By Auchtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; But Phemie was a bonnier lass Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.

II.

Her looks were like a flow'r in May,

Her smile was like a simmer morn; She tripped by the banks of Ern,

As light's a bird upon a thorn.

III.

Her bonnie face it was as meek

As ony lamb upon a lea; The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.

IV.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.

Blithe, blithe, and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben;
Blithe by the banks of Ern,

And blithe in Glenturit glen.

[The heroine of this song was Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, called, in the poetic language of the Scottish mountains, the Flower of Strathmore. She happened to meet with Burns during one of his northern tours, and, by her affability and beauty, called forth this charming lyric. She accompanied him as one of a small party, along the banks of Ern, to romantic Glenturit, and loved to stand by the Poet's side and point out what pleased her in the landscape. From living beauty he took the hint for his song, and happily has he han dled the subject; only two lines of the chorus belong to the elder muse." I composed these verses," says the Poet, in his notes in the Museum, "while I stayed at Auchtertyre with Sir William Murray."]

To Daunton me.

Tune-To Daunton me.

L

THE blude red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me so young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

II.

For a' his meal and a' his maut,
For a' his fresh beef and his saut,
For a' his gold and white monie,

An auld man shall never daunton me.

III.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, His gear may buy him glens and knowes; But me he shall not buy nor fee,

For an auld man shall never daunton me.

IV.

He hirples twa-fauld as he dow,
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,
And the rain dreeps down frae his red bleer'd e'e-
That auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

[The Poet had a Jacobite song of the same name in his thoughts when he wrote his pithy lyric; some of the old verses are curious and to the point :

"To daunton me, to daunton me,

D'ye ken the things wad daunton me?
Eighty-eight and eighty-nine,

And a' the dreary years sin syne,

With cess and press and Presbytry,

Gude faith, these were like to hae daunton'd me.

"But to wanton me, but to wanton me,
D'ye ken the things that wad wanton me?

To see gude corn upon the rigs,

An' banishinent to a' the Whigs,

An' right restor'd where right should be,

O! these are the things that wad wanton me."]

Come boat me o'er to Charlie.

Tune-O'er the Water to Charlie.

I.

COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er, Come boat me o'er to Charlie;

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

II.

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him:
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!

III.

I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so early,

If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.

We'll o'er the water, and o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie!

["Some of these lines are old, and some of them are from the pen of Burns; the second stanza is his, and most of the third. Many songs on the same subject and to the same air were once current in Scotland: in Hogg's Jacobite Relics another version may be found: there are stray verses, too, worthy of being gathered :

'We'll o'er the water, we 'll o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
The mirkest night will draw to light-
There's sunshine yet for Charlie.'

One version takes the song from the lips of a soldier, and gives it to those of a lady. President Forbes bears testimony to the violent admiration of the Scottish ladies for the exiled prince, and we have the assurance of Ray that they would not listen to reason, but were Jacobites, one and all."-CUNNINGHAM.]

A Rose-bud by my Early Walk.

Tune-The Rose-bud.

I.

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread
And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.