Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,

Go, frighten the coward and slave;

Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,

No terrors hast thou to the brave.

Thou strikest the all peasant; he sinks in the dark,

Nor saves even the wreck of a name; Thou strikest the young hero-a glorious mark! He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the proud field of honour-our swords in our hands,

Our king and our country to saveWhile victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, O! who would not die with the brave!

THE DEIL'S AWA WI' THE EXCISEMAN.

THE deil cam fiddling through the toun,
And danced awa wi' the exciseman;
And ilka auld wife cried, Auld Mahoun,
I wish you luck o' the prize, man.
The deil's awa, the deil's awa,

The deil's awa wi' the exciseman;
He's danced awa, he's danced awa,
He's danced awa wi' the exciseman!

THE ELECTION.

Tune-" Fy, let us a' to the bridal."

Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright.

For there will be bickering there, For Murray's light horse are to muster; And oh, how the heroes will swear!

AND there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon the batttle to win :
Like brithers they'll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance and sin.
Fy, let us a', &c.

And there will be black-nebbed Johnnie,
The tongue of the trump to them a';
If he get na hell for his haddin',
The deil gets nae justice ava!
Fy, let us a', &c.

And there will be Templeton's birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane;
But, as to his fine Nabob fortune,
We'll e'en let the subject alane.
Fy, let us a', &c.

And there will be Wigton's new sheriff:
Dame Justice fu' brawly has sped;
She's gotten the heart of a B- -by,
But what has become of the head?
Fy, let us u', &c.

And there will be Cardoness' squire,
So mighty in Cardoness' eyes;
A wight that will weather damnation,
For the devil the prey will despise.
Fy, let us a', &c.

And there will be Douglasses doughty,
New christening towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissing the doup of a peer
Fy, let us a', &c.

And there will be Kenmure sae generous,
Whose honour is proof 'gainst the storm;
To save them frae stark reprobation,

He lent them his name to the firm.
Fy, let us a', &c.

But we winna mention Redcastle ; The body, e'en let him escape:

The deil's awa, &c.

There's threesome reels, there's foursome rels, There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;

An 'twerena the cost o' the rape. Fy, let us a', &c.

And there is our King's Lord Lieutenant, Sae famed for his grateful return?

When day expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature's rest;
He flies to her arms he lo'es best,
The gard'ner wi' his paidle.

THE GLOOMY NIGHT IS GATHERING FAST.

Tune-" Banks of Ayr."

THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain.
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure,
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

The autumn mourns her ripening corn,
By early winter's ravage torn;
Across her placid azure sky
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

'Tis not the surging billows' roar,
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore;
Though death in every shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear:
But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierced with many a wound;
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.

Farewell old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scene where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell my friends, farewell my foes,
My peace with these, my love with those;
The bursting tears my heart declare;
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr.*

THE HEATHER WAS BLOOMING.

Tune-" I red you beware at the hunting."

THE heather was blooming, the meadows were

mawn,

Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn, O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen, At length they discovered a bonnie moor-hen.

• Burns wrote this song, while convoying his chest so far on the road from Ayrshire to Greenock, where he intended to embark in a few days for Jamaica. He designed it, he says, as his farewell dirge to his native

country.

NAE gentle dames, tho' ne'er sae fair,
Sall ever be my Muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty shew;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, 0,
Aboon the plain sae rashy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

O were yon hills and vallies mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while ny crimson currents flow,
I'll lo'e my land lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow
My faithful Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

For her I'll dare the billow's roar ;
For her I'll trace a distant shore;

That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen, &c.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By secret truth and honour's band!
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O.

Farewell the glen, sae bushy, O,
Farewell the plain, sae rashy, O,
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

THE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA.

Tune-" O'er the hills and far awa."

Q. How can I be blithe and glad,

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa?

It's no the frosty winter wind,

It's no the driving drift and snaw; But aye the tear comes in my ee

To think on him that's far awa.

My father pat me frae his door,

My friends they hae disown'd me a'; But I hae ane will take my part,

The bonnie lad that's far awa.

A pair o' gloves he gae to me,

And silken snoods he gae me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonnie lad that's far awa.

The weary winter soon will pass,
And spring will cleed the birken shaw;
And my sweet babie will be born,

And he'll come hame that's far awa.

THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE.

Tune-"The Lass of Ballochmyle." Twas even, the dewy fields were green, On ilka blade the pearls hang; The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, And bore its fragrant sweets alang : In ev'ry glen the mavis sang;

All nature list'ning seem'd the while, Except where greenwood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy; When, musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy: Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like Nature's vernal smile;

The lily's hue, and rose's dye, Bespake the lass o' Ballochmyle.

Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in Autumn mild,
When roving through the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But woman, Nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile;
Even there her other works are foil'd,
By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Oh, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Though shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose on Scotland's plain! Through weary winter's wind and rain, With joy, with rapture, I would toil; And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward dig the Indian mine.
Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks, or till the soil,
And ev'ry day have joys divine,
Wi' the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED
TO ME.†

WHEN Januar winds were blawin' cauld,
Unto the north I bent my way,
The mirksome nicht did me enfauld,
I kend na where to lodge till day;
But by good luck a lass I met,

Just in the middle of 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 make the bed to me.

This song was written in praise of Miss Alexander of Ballochmyle. Burns happened one fine evening to meet this young lady, when walking through the beautiful woods of Ballochmyle, which lie at the dis tance of two miles from his farin of Mossgiel. Struck with a sense of her passing beauty, he wrote this noble lyric; which he soon after sent to her, enclosed in a letter, as full of delicate and romantic sentiment, and as poetical as itself. He was somewhat mortified to find, that either maidenly modest, or pride of superior station, prevented her from acknowledging the receipt of his compliment: Indeed it is no where recorded that she, at any stage of life, shewed the smallest sense of it; as to her the pearls seem to have been literally thrown away.

There is an older and coarser song, containing the same incidents, and said to have been occasioned by an adventure of Charles II., when that monarch resided in Scotland with the Presbyterian army, 1650-51. The affair happened at the house of Port-Lethem, in Aberdeenshire, and it was a daughter of the laird that made the bed to the king.