Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.

BIRKS OF ABERGELDIE.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

To the birks o' Abergeldie?
Ye shall get a gown o' silk,

A gown o' silk, a gown o' silk,
Ye shall get a gown o' silk,
And coat o' calimancoe.

Na, kind sir, I darena gang,
darena gang, I darena gang,
Na, kind sir, I darena gang,
My minnie she'll be angry.
Sair, sair, wad she flyte,

Wad she flyte, wad she flyte,

Sair, sair, wad she flyte,

And sair wad she ban me.

M.

CLARINDA.

CLARINDA, mistress of my soul,
The measur'd time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole,
So marks his latest sun.

To what dark cave of frozen night
Shall poor Sylvander hie :
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light,
The sun of all his joy!

We part—but by these precious drops
That fill thy lovely eyes!

No other light shall guide my steps,
Till thy bright beams arise.

She, the fair sun of all her sex,
Has blest my glorious day :
And shall a glimmering planet fix
My worship to its ray?

THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER.*

Tune "Morag."

LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,

The snaws the mountains cover;

Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland Rover
Far wanders nations over.

*The young Highland Rover is supposed to be the young Chevalier, Prince Charles Edward.-Currie.

I should rather think the Lord Lewis Gordon is meant here. -H.

--

Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
May Heaven be his warden :
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon !

The trees now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blithly singing,

And every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When by his mighty warden
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey,
And bonnie Castle-Gordon !

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.*

Tune "Druimion dubh.”

MUSING on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,
For his weal where'er he be.

Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding, late to nature's law;
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.

Composed by the poet in compliment to Mrs M'Lauchlan, whose husband was an officer, at that period serving in the East Indies.

Gentle night, do thou befriend me;
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa.

RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.*

Tune-"M'Grigor of Ruara's Lament."

RAVING winds around her blowing,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella stray'd deploring.

"Farewell hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow..

"O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Load to misery most distressing,
O how gladly I'd resign thee,
And to dark oblivion join thee!"

• This was written in compliment to Miss Isabella M'Leod, of Raza, now Mrs Ross, a very great friend of the poet. In it Burns very feelingly alludes to some distressing domestic bereavements, which that lady had to suffer.

STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME?

Tune-"An Gille dubh ciar dhubh."

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me ?

Cruel, cruel to deceive me!

Well you know how much you grieve me;
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?

By my love so ill requited;
By the faith you fondly plighted;
By the pangs of lovers slighted;
Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!

THICKEST NIGHT O'ERHANG MY DWELLING.*

Tune-"Strathallan's Lament."

THICKEST night o'erhang my dwelling!
Howling tempests o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave!

Crystal streamlets gently flowing,

Busy haunts of base mankind,

"The air," says Burns, "is the composition of one of the best of men living: Allan Masterton, schoolmaster, in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. To tell the truth, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by the way of vive la bagatelle." Strathallan, it is presumed, was one of the followers of the young Chevalier, and is supposed to be lying concealed in some cave of the Highlands, after the battle of Culloden. This song was written before the year 1788.