I've liv'd a life of sturt1 and strife;
I die by treacherie:

It burns my heart I must depart
And not avenged be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.

"How long aud dreary is the night:" "I met with some such words," says Burns, "in a collection of songs somewhere, which I have altered and enlarged, and made to suit my favourite air, Cauld kail in Aberdeen."

Tune.-Cauld kail in Aberdeen.

How lang and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie !
I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary

CHORUS.

For oh, her lanely nights are lang;
And oh, her dreams are eerie,k
And oh, her widow'd heart is suir,
That's absent frae her dearie!
When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my dearie;
And now what seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie?

For oh, &c.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours!
The joyless day, how drearie!
It was na sae ye glinted' by,
When I was wi' my dearie.

Trouble

For oh, &c.

k Frightful.

Peeped, passed quickly.

BONNIE PEG.

First published in the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818
As I came in by our gate end,
As day was waxin' weary,

O wha came tripping down the street,
But bonnie Peg, my dearie!

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,
Wi' nae proportion wanting,
The Queen of Love did never move
Wi' motion mair enchanting.

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands
A-down yon winding river;

And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,
Can I forget it ever?

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.

Burns has written nothing of the kind better, than the following happy and most excellent song. The old proverbial lore,' says Allan Cunningham, lends wisdom to the verse, the love of freedom is delicately expressed and vindicated, the sorrows of life are softened by song, and drink seems only to flow to set the tongue of the muse a-moving.'

Tune.-Lumps o' Pudding.

CONTENTED wi' little, and cantiem wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp," as they 're creepin' alang,
Wi' a cogo o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish

sang.

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:"
My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,
And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare
touch.

Cheerful.
P Ale.

n Slap, a smart stroke.
9 Scratch.

o Wooden dishe

r Fight,

A towmonds o' trouble, should that be my ta',t
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers" it a':
When at the blythe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the Deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

Blind Chance, let her snapper" and stoytex on her way;

Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jad gae: Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or pain, My warst word is, 'Welcome, and welcome again!'

WANDERING WILLIE.

Perhaps in this song Burns has not much improved upon the old 'Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie.'

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame ;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee;
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye

wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers, How your dread howling a lover alarms' Wauken ye breezes, row2 gently ye billows, And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main, May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's

my

ain!

OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!

Written to the old air of Lord Gregory; the second line was originally, 'If love it may na be, Oh!'

Он, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, Oh!

Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, Oh!

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, Oh!
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh!

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, Oh!

False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh!

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide,
She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh!
My true love!' she cried, and sank down by his
Never to rise again, Oh

MY NANNIE'S AWA.

[side,

Tune.-There 'll never be peace tiil Jamie comes hame. The air to which this pretty pastoral song is united, was a favourite of Burns's. He wrote some excellent Jacobite verses to the same tune.

Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the inorn;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nannie--and Nannie's awa.

a Every small wood.

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn,

The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa',
Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa.

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw,
Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Tune.-0 bonnie lass, will ye lie in a barrack'

This song was originally written to a fine old air, called Jackie Hume's Lanent, but altered to suit the present tune. There is another and an older Meg o' the Mill, which begins-

O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill nas gotten!
Oken ye what Meg o' the Mili has gotten!
A braw new gown, an' the tail o' it rotten,
An' that's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten.

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coofd wi' a claute o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
The miller was strappin,' the miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;8
She's left the gude fellow and taen the churl.
The miller he hechth her a heart leal and loving⚫
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving:
A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear-chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin'!
And wae on the love that's fixed on a mailen !!
A tocher 'sk nae word in a true lover's parle,
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl'!

& Lark. c Thrush. d Blockhead. e Great quantity of silver.
Deserving the gallows. g Bleared dwarf. h Offered.
i Firm.
Marriage portion.