The Deil he could na scaith' thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, "I canna wrang thee."
The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha'na steer thee;
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Leslie!

Return to Caledonia!

That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, ETC.

Written for the "Museum" to the beautiful old melody "The lady of the flowery field," included in Ritson's "Desiderata in Scottish Song," since published in the Scots Magazine for Jan. 1802.

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,

The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest:

When Willie, wandering through the wood,
Who for her favor oft had sued;

He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed,
Were seal'd in soft repose;

Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed,
They richer dyed the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild, wanton kiss'd her rival breast;

He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace!

Her lovely form, her native ease,

All harmony and grace!

1 Injure.-2 Above.-3 Tend, guard.-4 Molest.

Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul!

As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspiréd wings;

So Nelly, starting, half awake,
Away affrighted springs:

But Willie follow'd-as he should,
He overtook her in the wood:
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.

THE BANKS OF CREE.

The air of this song was composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron. The Cree is a beautiful romantic stream in Galloway.

HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has told the hour-
Oh what can stay my lovely maid?

'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.

It is Maria's voice I hear!

So calls the wood-lark in the grove,
His little faithful mate to cheer;

At once 'tis music-and 'tis love!

And art thou come? and art thou true?
Oh welcome, dear, to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flowery banks of Cree.

YOUNG PEGGY.

This is one of the Poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from a MS book which he had before his first publication.-Cromek.

TUNE-The last time I came owre the moor.

YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With pearly gems adorning.

Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each freshening flower.

Her lips more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
They charm the admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them.
Her smiles are like the evening mild,
When feather'd pairs are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.

Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Such sweetness would relent her;
As blooming spring unbends the brow
Of savage, surly winter.

Detraction's eye no harm can join
Her winning powers to lessen;
And spiteful envy grins in vain,
The poison'd tooth to fasten.

Ye powers of honor, love, and truth,
From every ill defend her;
Inspire the highly-favor'd youth

The destinies intend her:
Still fan the sweet connubial flame,
Responsive in each bosom;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.

THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MARY.

This song was communicated by Burns to the Musical Museum, with a mark, denoting it to be an old song with alterations or additions. As ha published "Auld Lang Syne," and several of his songs, in a similar way, and as the new of "Bonnie Mary" cannot be known from the old, there is reason to believe it one of his own songs.

IN coming by the brig of Dye,1

At Dartlet we a blink did tarry;
As day was dying in the sky,
We drank a health to bonnie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary,
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary;
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,
In wooing Theniel's bonnie Mary.
Her een sae bright, her brow sae white,
Her haffet locks as brown's a berry,
An' ay they dimpled wi' a smile,
The rosie cheeks o' bonnie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary,
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary;
She charm'd my heart an' my twa een,
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary.

We lap an' danced the lee-lang night,
Till piper lads were wan an' weary,
Yet rosie as the rising sun

Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary,
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary;
Oh, sweet as light, and kind as night,
Was Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary.

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.

"This song," says Burns, has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral. The vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter night, are all regularly rounded."

TUNE-Rothiemurchus' Rant.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?

Wilt thou be my dearie O?

A small river in Kincardineshire, near the birthplace of the Poet's father.

Now nature cleeds' the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
Oh wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou 'lt be my dearie O?
Lassie, &c.

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk' drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower,
At sultry noon, my dearie O.
Lassie, &c.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we 'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie O.
Lassie, &c.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
Enclaspéd to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O.
Lassie, &c.

O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.

The subject of this song was a lady, who afterwards died at Lisbon. Burns writes in the character of her husband. She was an accomplished and lovely woman, and worthy of this beautiful strain of sensibility.

TUNE-I'll gang nae raair to yon town.

OH wats ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon?
The fairest dame 's in yon town,
That e'enin' sun is shining on.

Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her ee!

How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year;

And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.

1 Clothes.-2 2 Every.-3 To wot.