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Western breezes softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.

In the cause of right engaged,

Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly waged,

But the Heavens deny'd success.

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend,
The wide world is all before us-
But a world without a friend!

TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.*

Tune-" Invercald's Reel."

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye would nae been sae shy;
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But, trowth, I care na by.

YESTREEN I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

This is an early production of the poet's. Burns says he wrote it when about seventeen years of age.-M.

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,

Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice The deil a ane wad spier your price, Were ye as poor as I.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would na gie her in her sark,
For thee wi' a' thy thousan' mark ;
Ye need na look sae high.

O Tibbie, I hae, &c.

;

WHERE BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.*

Tune-" N. Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny."

WHERE braving angry winter's storms,

The lofty Ochels rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wond'ring eyes.
As one who by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd doubly marks its beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their power!
The tyrant death with grim control
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN.†

Tune "The Posie."

O LUVE will venture in, where it daurna weel be seen,
O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been:
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.

* Miss Margaret Chalmers was the heroine of this song.

† In Professor Wilson's interesting articles on Greek Anthology, published in Blackwood's Magazine, he thus eloquently contrasts Meleager's Heliodora's Garland,' with the Posie of Burns, and justly, we think, gives the preference to the Bard of Coila.

The

The primrose I will pu', the firstling 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.

feeling of the Greek lines is tender, and the expression perfect, but we cannot say more of the feeling than that it is a natural tenderness, inspired by the mingled breath of Heliodora and her garland. The tenderness is mixed, too, it may be said, with pride and homage. Meleager does the thing gracefully: we see his figure in an imposing posture as he fixes the wreath on her head. But compare the courtier with the clown-Meleager with Burns. By the banks of every stream in Coila had bold bright Bobby walked with his arm round some sweetheart's waist, and helped her to pull the primrose or the hawthorn

'In many a secret place,

Where rivulets danced their wayward round,
And beauty, born of murmuring sound,

Did pass into her face.'

"The Scot surpasses the Greek in poetry as well as passion— his tenderness is more heartfelt-its expression is even more exquisite; for the most consummate art, even when guided by genius, cannot refine and burnish by repeated polishing the best selected words, up to the breathing beauty that, warm from the fount of inspiration, sometimes colours the pure language of Lady! we appeal to thee-while we place THE POSIE

nature.

on thy bosom.

"In one of Mr Merivale's notes-always so agreeable allusion is made to Dr Aikin'sEssay on the application of Natural History to Poetry'-where he censures Pope for having in his Pastorals represented two flowers as blowing at the same time, when some months in reality intervene between the periods of their flowering;

'Here, the bright crocus and the violet grow;
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.'

We have never seen the Doctor's Essay, but do not doubt the excellence of his prescription. Every flowery versifier,' he says, has materials at hand for a lover's bower; but a botanist alone could have culled and sorted the plants which compose the Bower of Eve.' Poo-poo-poo. Milton was no botanist. Poets of course observe all natural phenomena; when they wish to be accurate they generally are so; and ignorance is unpardonable on all occasions where they profess to write according to knowledge. But feeling often forgets facts. Meleager gathers flowers for his Heliodora that are all naturally in blossom together, and

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

it is well; but Burns pu'd a posie for his own dear May, in despite of the Seasons and Dr Aikin. He was as good a botanist as Milton-that is, no botanist at all-but he knew every month by its flower. Nevertheless, his own dear May, more magical than even the month of that name, to his eyes covered the earth at once with all the flowers of the year. As all the innocences were alive in her, so to his imagination were all their emblems in nature. The primrose the firstling of the year-as he most tenderly calls it-the pink, which comes long after-the rose, which in Scotland at least is 'newly born in June'-the hawthorn, seldom 'siller grey' before July-and the violet earlier far than the lily-though Heaven forbid the lily should be wanting-all are pu'd by the ploughman for one Posie, that in its profusion and confusion of balm and bloom, shall faintly but faithfully image his own dear May. Enough that both she and they were innocent and beautiful in the breath of Heaven. Nor is that all. He mingles the hours of the day as well as the seasons of the year.

'I'll pu' the budding rose when Phoebus peeps in view'—

an image of the dewy dawn; but from morn to dewy eve is but a moment in 'love's young dream,' and forgetful of the simplest and easiest chronology, he declares,

'The woodbine I will pu' when the evening star is near !' We could expatiate for an hour on this Posie; but the hint we have dropped is sufficient to settle Dr Aikin."

Another version of this beautiful lyric appeared above thirty years ago, set to music, and was afterwards printed in the Harp of Caledonia; it exhibits many variations. The authority on which these are made is not stated, but it may not be far from the truth to infer that they may be the poet's first draught. We subjoin the version alluded to:

O LUVE will venture in, whar it daurna weel be seen;

O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been;

But I will down yon river rove, amang the leaves sae green,
And a' to pu' a posie for my ain dear Jean.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,

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