The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY.*

Tune-"For the sake of somebody."

My heart is sair, I darena tell,
My heart is sair for somebody;

I could wake a winter night
For the sake o' somebody,
Oh-hon! for somebody!
Oh-hey! for somebody!

I could range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody.

* Traditionary versions of this song are often to be met with; Ramsay gives one, which has supplied Burns with several lines, but the oldest one I have met with, says Mr Buchan, is as follows:

Were I oblig'd to beg my bread,

And knew not where to hide my head,

Unto yon village I would speed,

And spend my life wi' somebody.
Somebody, somebody,

Dear sweet somebody,

I would wake a winter's night,
For the sake o' somebody.

Ye Powers, that smile on virtuous love,
O, sweetly smile on somebody!

Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my somebody
Oh-hon! for somebody!

Oh-hey! for somebody!

I wad do-what wad I not?
For the sake o' somebody!

Gin I were changed like a midge,
I would gang to yonder bridge,
And sae sweetly's I would lodge,
In the arms o' somebody
Somebody, &c.

Gin I were changed like the crow,
To yon dear body I would go;
Sae sweetly's I wad let her know,
How she is lov'd by somebody.
Somebody, &c.

Now gin I live and brook my life,

That same dear body's be my wife,

And I'll keep her free frae care and strife,

And love and cherish somebody,
Somebody, somebody,

Dear sweet somebody;

I would wake a winter's night

For the sake o' somebody.

In the west of Scotland we have often met with the following

set:

This weary warld disturbs my rest,

Love rages in my wounded breast,
Day nor nicht I canna rest,

For thinking on my somebody.
Somebody, somebody,

O my dear sweet somebody;
The lassie lives nae far frae this,
That's dearly lov'd by somebody.

The verdure o' the opening spring,
Doth to me no more pleasure bring,

THE GALLANT WEAVER.*

WHERE Cart rins rowing to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

Than round her waist my arms to fling,
And steal a kiss frae somebody.
Somebody, somebody,

O my dear sweet somebody;
I would wake a winter's night
Just for ae kiss o' somebody.

O were I king ower a' the globe,
And did I wear the golden robe;
Tho' she were mean as e'er was Job,
I would luve my somebody.
Somebody, somebody,

O my dear sweet somebody;
I would gie-what wad I not?
Just for the sake o' somebody.

I've been in France, I've been in Spain,
And twice as far ayont the main ;

So now I am come back again,

Just for to wed my somebody.
Somebody, somebody;

O my dear sweet somebody,
The lassie lives not far frae this,

That's dearly lov'd by somebody.

M.

We have heard it stated, out not on such authority as we can entirely depend upon, that Mrs Burns was sent to Paisley by her parents to be confined of her first child, which circumstance may account for the poet's seeking to commemorate in verse the river which intersects that populous and interesting manufacturing town. The house pointed out to us as that occupied by the poet's wife in her temporary concealment is now taken down. It was opposite the Tennis Court, and was vulgarly called the "Deil's Elbow," for what reason we could never discover.-M.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,.
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in op'ning flowers;

While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.*

COMING THrough the RYE.t

Tune-"Coming through the Rye."

COMING through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body—
Coming through the rye,

* In some editions sailor is substituted for weaver.

+ Under this title there are so many traditionary versions that it is almost needless to give any particular set. Burns dressed up the old words for the Museum with his usual felicity, although it must be confessed, he has retained a good deal of the raciness of the original; but like the bee, he gathers honey from every flower, however poisonous.-M.

Gin a body kiss a body-
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Coming through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body—
Need the world ken ?
Jenny's a' wat, poor body ;
Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

HAD I THE WYTE.*

Tune-"Had I the wyte, she bade me.'

HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte, she bade me ;
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side,
And
up the loan she shawed me ;
And when I wadna venture in,
A coward loon she ca'd me ;
Had kirk and state been in the gate,
I lighted when she bade me..

Sae craftily she took me ben,

And bade me make nae clatter;
"For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman
Is out and owre the water :"

Whae'er shall I wanted grace,

say

When I did kiss and dawte her,

* The tune to which this song is composed and many of the words are old. It is said that the air to which Burns originally wrote these words was "Come kiss wi' me, and clap wi' me," a rather licentious ditty. We have not lost much by the oblivion into which these old strains have fallen.-M.