THE POSIE.

The air of this song was taken down from the singing of Mrs. Burns. The following is the first verse of the old song to the same tune

"There was a pretty May, and a milking she went,
Wi' her red rosie cheeks, an' her coal black hair.'

seen,

O LUVE will venture in where it daur na weeld be [been; O luve wili venture in, where wisdom ance has But I will down yon river rove, among the wood

sae green,

And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstlin' o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer;

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, [mou; For it's like a baumy kiss o' her bonnie sweet The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. [blue,

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
In her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day,
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna
tak away;

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is [clear; And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae

near,

The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to
And a' to be a posie to my aid dear May. [wear,
I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by
a' above,
[ne'er remuve,
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

GLOOMY DECEMBER.

The old air, Wat ye how the play began,' to which this song was written, is lively-the words plaintive. Burns frequently united music and poetry together, without considering much the natural dispositions of the parties.

ANCE mairf I hail thee, thou gloomy December! Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure; Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever,

Is anguish unmingled and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,

Till the last leaf of the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Since my last hope and last comfort is gone; Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair!

BONNIE BELL.

In the Edinburgh Miscellany,' 1809, a copy of this song is printed with two additional verses; but they do not appear to be the work of Burns.

THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,

And surly Winter grimly flies:

ƒ Once more.

Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell,
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer,
And yellow Autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,
Till smiling Spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging,
I adore my bonnie Bell.

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

In some of the earlier editions of this song, sailor' is substituted for weaver.'

Tune. The auld wife ayont the fine.

WHERE Carts rins rowin'h to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
T'hey gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,*
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;

While bees rejoice in opening flowers;

While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.

The name of a river.

Would be lost.

A Runs rolling.

i Eight. Marriage-bond.

A RED, RED ROSE.

The air and the first verse of this song are taken from an old
Ayrshire ballad.

O, MY luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O, my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I :

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gangm dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands of life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve !
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl of Mar fought Nov. 13, 1715.

Tune.-The Cameronian Rant,

'O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were you at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man?'
I saw the battle, sair" and tough,
And reekin'-red ran mony a sheugh,"
My heart, for fear, gae sought for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,r
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'dt at kingdoms three, maɔ

• Ditch.

m Go.
n Sore.
A loud intermitting noise.
In clothing made of the tartan check.

p Sigh.

r Clouds. t Aimed at.

The red-coat lads wi' black cockades
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And mony a bouk" did fa', man:
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanced twenty miles :

[clash'd,

They hack'd and hash'd, while broad swords

And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.

But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin' tartan trews, man,

When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs,
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets oppos'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.
"O how deil Tam can that be true?

The chase gaed frae the north, man:
I saw myself, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man ;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brigb wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man,'

My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swore she saw some rebels run
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man;

u Vomiting.

w Foe.

A short petticoat worn by the Highlanders.
Shining chequered trowsers. z Target.
b Bridge.

c Swoon.

d Doves.