And ay the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';
And ay he vows he'll be my ain
As lang's he has a breath to draw.

BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL.

'Liggeram cosh" is a delightful air. I have become such an enthusiast about it, that I have made a song for it, which I think is not in my worst manner.-Letter to Mr. Thomson.

TUNE-Liggeram cosh.

BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me:
Now nae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;
Leslie is sae fair and coy,

Care and anguish seize me.

Heavy, heavy is the task,

Hopeless love declaring:
Trembling, I do nocht but glower,
Sighing, dumb, despairing!
If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling,

Underneath the grass-green sod
Soon maun be my dwelling.

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO.

In the first volume of a collection, entitled "Poetry, Original and Selected," published by Brash and Reid, of Glasgow, in 1801, this song is inserted, with four additional stanzas, said to be by Robert Burns. Of these additional stanzas, Dr. Currie says, "Every reader of discernment will see they are by an inferior band."

JOHN ANDERSON, my jo,' John,
When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;2

1 Sweetheart.-2 Sinooth.

But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And monie a cantie2 day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither.
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

OLD AGE.

'This song," says Allan Cunningham, "has never been a favorite. Youth wishes to enjoy the golden time upon its hands, and age is far from fond of chanting of declining strength, white pows, and general listlessness."

TUNE-The death of the Linnet.

BUT lately seen in gladsome green
The woods rejoiced the day,

Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers

In double pride were gay:

But now our joys are fled,

On winter blasts awa;

Yet maiden May, in rich array,

Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow,3 nae kindly thowe

Shall melt the snaws of age;

My trunk of eild," but buss or bield,
Sinks in time's wintry rage.

Oh, age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain:

Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime,
Why com'st thou not again?

1 Gray hairs.-2 Cheerful. - Head.-4 Thaw. Old age.shelter.

6 Without

MARY MORRISON.

"Mary Morrison," says Burns in a letter to Thomson, "is one of my juvenile works. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or demerits." All his critics and commentators, however, agree in thinking it one of the best songs he ever wrote.

TUNE-Bide ye yet.

O MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted' hour;
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blythely wad I bid the stoure,"
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morrison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed round the lighted ha',3
To thee my fancy took its wing-

I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Though this was fair and that was braw,*
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said, amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morrison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only fault is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' Mary Morrison.

SWEETEST MAY.

Altered from Allan Ramsay's song:

"There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile thee."

Tea Table Miscellany, vol. i. p. 70.

SWEETEST May, let love inspire thee;
Take a heart which he desires thee;

'Appointed.-2 Dust in motion.-3 Hall.-4 Fine.- Give.

As thy constant slave regard it;
For its faith and truth reward it.

Proof o' shot to birth or money,
Not the wealthy but the bonnie;
Not high-born, but noble-minded,
In love's silken band can bind it.

LOVELY NANCY.

Burns frequently went to the Bible for some of his finest sentiments. The two lines

"Turn away these eyes of love,

Lest I die with pleasure,"

are almost the same as the following passage in the Song of Solomon, chap. vi. ver. 5: “Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me,”.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

TUNE-My jo, Janet.

This song was written for Mr. Thomson's collection.

"Tell me," says

Burns, in a letter to that gentleman, dated December, 1793, "how you like my song to 'Jo, Janet.'"'

SHE.

HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir,-
Though I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir.

HE.

One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;

Is it man or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy?

SHE.

If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sovereign lord,
And so, good-by allegiance!

HE.

Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy;

Yet I'll try to make a shift,

My spouse, Nancy.

SHE.

My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it:
When you lay me in the dust,

Think, think how you will bear it.

HE.

I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;

Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy.