Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean

I wat she is a dainty chucky;
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky,

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky,
I wish her sale for her gude ale,

The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.*

Tune-"Bhannerach dhon na chri."

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn; And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn! Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,

And England, triumphant, display her proud rose : A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

* These verses were composed by Burns on Miss Charlotte Hamilton, sister to his worthy friend and patron, Mr Gavin Hamilton of Mauchline. She was born on the banks of the Ayr, but resided, when the song was written, at Herveyston in Clackmannanshire, on the romantic banks of the river Devon.-M.

WHEN JANUAR' WIND.

Tune-"The Lass that made the bed to me."

WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld.
I knew na where to lodge till day.

* Burns, in his notes on this song in the Museum, says, "The bonnie lass that made the bed to me,' was composed on an amour of Charles II. when sculking in the North, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. He formed une petite affaire with a daughter of the house of Port-Letham, who was the lass that made the bed to him." I am very sceptical upon this head, and I think the following original song, which I am proud of being able to submit to the readers of Burns, will bear me out.

The night it was baith cauld and wet,
As I was coming owre the lea,
When there I met wi' a bonnie young lass,
Who said she'd make up a bed for me.
O the bed for me, O the bed for me,
The lass that made the bed to me,

I might hae lien upo' the lea

Gin the bonnie lassie hadna made a bed for me.

I took her in my arms twa,

Laid her atween me and the wa',

She says, frae me ye'll haud awa',

For fear that my minny should see me.
O the bed for me, &c.

She had five guineas in a gluve,
And out o' it she's gien me three;
She staw her mither's Holland shects
And said that would be sarks to me.
O the bed for me, &c.

When fourteen weeks were come and past,
The lassie she grew sick at last,

Sick at last, and like to die,

And rued she'd made a bed to me.

O the bed for me, &c.

By my good luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care :
And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,

And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,

Wi' twa white hands she spread it down; She put the cup to her rosy lips,

And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,

And frae my chamber went wi' speed;

But I call'd her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head

A cod she laid below my head,

And served me wi' due respect;

And to salute her wi' a kiss,

I put my arms about her neck.

“ Haud aff your hands, young man,” she says,

"And dinna sae uncivil be:

If ye hae onie love for me,

O wrang na my virginitie!"

When nine months they were come and gone,
The lassie she brought hame a son,

And now its daddie I maun be,

Because she made the bed to me.

O the bed for me, &c.

B

Her hair was like the links o gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie ;
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me.

Her bosom was the driven snaw,

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, The lass that made the bed to me.

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

And aye she wistna what to say;
I laid her between me and the wa'-
The lassie thought na lang till day.

Upon the morrow when we rose,
I thank'd her for her courtesie ;
aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd,
And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me."

But

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, While the tear stood twinklin in her e'e; My lassie, dinna cry,

I said, 66

For ye aye shall mak the bed to me."

She took her mither's Holland sheets,
And made them a' in sarks to me:
Blythe and merry may she be,

The lass that made the bed to me.

The bonuie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me:
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,

The lass that made the bed to me!

THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS O' NITH.*

AN ELECTION BALLAD.

Tune Up and waur them a'."

THE laddies by the banks o' Nith,
Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie,
But he'll sair them as he sair'd the king,
Turn tail and rin awa, Jamie.

Up and waur them a', Jamie,
Up and waur them a';

The Johnstons hae the guidin' o't,
Ye turncoat whigs, awa.

The day he stude his country's friend,
Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie,
Or frae puir man a blessin wan,
That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie
Up and waur, &c.

But wha is he, his country's boast?

Like him there is na twa, Jamie ;

In a preceding volume we have given the rest of the poet's electioneering songs. The above escaped our attention at the time, and is not therefore inserted in the place we originally intended for it, but as almost every thing is valuable which can incontestably be proved to be the production of the poet, we have now remedied that omission. It first appeared in a work entitled The spirit of British song,' 2 vols. 12mo, Glasgow, 1826. edited by the late John Goldie, a poet of considerable promise, and who contributed not a little to the lyrics of his native land, accompanied with the following note." This song, when first published, was written by Burns on the occasion of a contested election for the representation in parliament of the burgh of Dumfries, in which the late Duke of Queensberry, and Sir James Johnston, of Westerhaugh, were rival candidates. The characters, public and private, of these individuals, which it is well known were of the most opposite description, are hit off with considerable success in the second and third stanzas of the ballad."-M.