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MEG O' THE MILL.

AIR-"HEY, BONNIE LASS, WILL YOU LIE IN A BARRACK."

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof' wi' a claut2 o' siller,
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit3 knurl;
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl.

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle.

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ;
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen !1
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,5
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl!

JESSIE.

TUNE-"BONNIE DUNDEE."

TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr,
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair :
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over;
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ;
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his la',
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger,-
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.

1 Blockhead. 2 A scraping. 3 Crooked, bleared. 4 Farm.

5 Speec

WANDERING WILLIE.

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie ;
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought the tear in my e'e;
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me!

Rest, ye
wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers;
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
O still flow between us, thou wide-roaring main;
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.

LOGAN BRAES.1

TUNE "LOGAN WATER."

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun;
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.

Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay ;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers;
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy:
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While. Willie's far frae Logan braes.

1 The song was the fruit of "three-quarters of an hour's meditation" by the poet in his elbow-chair, on the wickedness of ambition.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush :
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile :
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.

O wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan Braes!

THERE WAS A LASS.1

TUNE-"BONNIE JEAN."

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrily;

The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers;
And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

Miss Jean M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig.

As in the bosom o' the stream

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; So trembling, pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.

And now she works her mammie's wark, And aye she sighs wi' care and pain; Yet wistna what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again.

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
Ae e'enin on the lily lea?

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love :

"O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me?
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
"At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me."

Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.

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In each bird's careless song
Glad did I share;

While yon wild flowers among,
Chance led me there :
Sweet to the opening day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray
Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.

Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were,
I mark'd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare :
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.

BY ALLAN STREAM.'

TUNE-" ALLAN WATER."

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ;2
The winds were whispering thro' the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready :

I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures manie!
And the wild-wood echoes rang-

aye

O dearly do I love thee, Annie !

O, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle mak it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

13

The place and time I met my dearie !

1 I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the "Museum" in my hand; when turning up "Allan Water," "What numbers shall the Muse repeat," &c., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat, and raved, under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote out one to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in my worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay's "Tea-table," where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is "Allan Water," or "My love Annie's very bonnie." This last has certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which I presume it formerly occupied; though I likewise give you a choosing line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy. "Bravo," say I: "it is a good song."-BURNS

to Thomson.

2 A mountain west of Strathallan, 3000 feet high.-R.B.
3 Or, "O my love Annie's very bonnie."-R.B.

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