The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway?
Who but knows they all decay?
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarms-
These are all immortal charms.

LORD GREGORY.

This song appears to have been suggested to the Poet's fancy, by the Lass of Lochroyan,' a very old ballad, a fragment of which will be found in Herd's collection, 1774. A copy of it still more enlarged has since been published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.'

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar ;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;

At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,

When first I own'd that virgin-love

lang, lang had denied?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,

Thou wad for aye be mine:

And my fond heart, itsel sae true,

It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:

Thou dart of heaven, that flashest by,
Oh! wilt thou give me rest?
9 Shew.

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!

But spare and pardon my fause love
His wrangs to heaven and me.

FRAGMENT.

These are eight beautiful lines. They are too few to sing, too good to cast away, and too peculiar and happy ever to be eked out by a hand inferior to the hand of their Author. They will long continue a fragment.—Cunningham's Scottish Songs.

HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O what a feast her bonnie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!

THE BLISSFUL DAY.

"I composed this song,' says Burns, out of compliment to one of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the worldRobert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together; and to their kindness and hospitality I am indebted for many of the happiest hours of my life.'

Tune.-Seventh of November. THE day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet, Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.

Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;

Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live :

When that grim foe of life below,
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.

JEANIE'S BOSOM.

This is an early composition. It was the first of the Poet's songs composed in praise of Bonnie Jean,' afterwards Mrs. Burns. Tune.-My mother's ay glow'ring owre me.

Louis, what reck I by thee,
Or Geordie on his ocean:
Dyvor, beggar louns to me,
I reign in Jeanie's bosom.
Let her crown my love her law,
And in her breast enthrone me :
Kings and nations switht awa
Rief randies," I disown ye!

WILLIE'S WIFE.

This song is founded on an old border ditty, beginning-
'Willie Wastle dwells in his castle,

An' nue a loun in a' the town
Can tak Willie Wastle doun.'

Tune.-Tibbie Fowler in the glen.

WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster" guid

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie;

He had a wife was dour and din,
O, tinkler Madgie was her mither:

CHORUS.

Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her.

Bankrupt.

s Ragamuffins.

u Thievish queans.

t Get away. w Weaver.

Stolen supposed to allude to the dishonest practices of seine weavers who purloin the yarn that is sent to the loom.

y Sullen and sallow.

z A gipsey woman.

She has an ee, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbyea a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deaveb a miller;
A whiskin' beard about her mou,

Her nose and chin they threaten ither :
Sic a wife, &c.

She's bow-hough'de, she 's hein-shinn'd,d
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breede shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair on ilkaf quarter;
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther:
Sic a wife, &c.

Auld baudrans by the ingleh sits,
And wi' her loof her face a-washin';
But Willie's wife is aae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ;
Her walie nieves1 like midden-creels,m
Her face wad fyle" the Logan water:
Sic a wife, &c.

I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN.

"The Poet was accustomed to say that the most happy period of his life was the first winter he spent at Elliesland,-for the first time under a roof of his own-with his wife and children about him. It is known that he welcomed his wife to her rooftree at Elliesland in this song. -Lockhart.

I HAE a wife o' my ain,
I'll partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,
I'll gie cuckold to naebody.
I hae a penny to spend,
There-thanks to naebody;

b Deafen.
Hand-breadth.
i Hand.
¿Large fists.

a Besides.

c Knock-kneed.

d Bony-shinnet.

f Every. g The cat. h Fire-place. * Cleans her mouth with a cushion. m Dung-baskets. n Make dirty.

I hae naething to lend,
I'll borrow frae naebody.
I am naebody's lord,

I'll be slave to naebody;
I hae a guid braid sword,
I'll tak dunts frae naebody.
I'll be merry and free,
I'll be sad for naebody;
If naebody care for me,
I'll care for naebody.

BONNIE WEE THING.

'Composed,' says Burns, on my little idol, the charming, lovely Davies.'

Tune.-The Lads of Saltcoats.

CHORUS.

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine,

I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
WISHFULLY I look and languish,
In that bonnie face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Bonnie wee thing, &c.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine:

To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine.
Bonnie wee thing, &c.