Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

SONG.

HERE'S a bottle and an honest friend!
What wad ye wish for mair, man?
Wha kens, before his life may end,
What his share may be of care, man?
Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man :---
Believe me, happiness is shy,
And comes not ay when sought, man.

ILK care and fear, when thou art near,
I ever mair defy them, O;
Young kings upon their hansel throne

Are no sae blest as I am, O!

I'll kiss thee, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,

I clasp my countless treasure, 0;
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

And by thy e'en, sae bonie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, 0;-
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

SONG.

Tune, If he be a Butcher neat and trim.'

ON Cessnock banks there lives a lass,
Could I describe her shape and mien ;
The graces of her weelfar'd face,

And the glancin' of her sparklin' e'en.

She's fresher than the morning dawn
When rising Phoebus first is seen,
When dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,

That grows the cowslip braes between,
And shoots its head above each bush;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

She's spotless as the flow'ring thorn

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,

When purest in the dewy morn;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her looks are like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That shades the mountain-side at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene
And gild the distant mountain's brow;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen,
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her lips are like the cherries ripe,
That sunny walls from Boreas screen,
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

But it's not her air, her form, her face,

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace, An' chiefly in her sparklin' e'en.

WAE IS MY HEART.

WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;
Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me :
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

Love, thou hast pleasures; and deep hae I loved; Love, thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved: But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast,

I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest.

O if I were, where happy I hae been;

Down by yon stream and yon bonie castle green : For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's e'e.

SONG.

Tune, Banks of Banna.'

YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,

A place where body saw na'; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna.

The hungry Jew in wilderness
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah!

Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,
An Empress or Sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms
I give and take with Anna!

Awa thou flaunting god o' day!
Awa thou pale Diana!

Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night,
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';

And bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna!

SONG.*

THE Deil cam fiddling thro' the town,
And danc'd awa wi' the' Exciseman;
And ilka wife cry'd, Auld Mahoun,

6

'We wish you luck o' the prize, man.

At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns, being called upon for a Song, handed these verses extempore to the President, written on the back of a letter.