And to beauty's bright standard all heroes must yield, For 'tis beauty that conquers, and wins the fair field.

I found this very pleasing song in Allan Ramsay's collection, bearing the mark denoting the author's name unknown. I have some suspicion that it is an English production; but as it has been rejected by Dr. Aikin, and other southern editors, I admit it gladly. Like a borderer of old, whose inheritance was a matter of national contest, it may rank under either the thistle or the rose. These two lines would do honour to any

song:

I grasp her hands gently, look languishing down, And, by passionate silence, I make my love known.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

I've seen the smiling
Of fortune beguiling-
I've tasted her favours,

And felt her decay:
Sweet is her blessing,
And kind her caressing-

But soon it is fled

It is fled far away.

I've seen the Forest,

Adorned the foremost

With flowers of the fairest,
Both pleasant and gay:
Full sweet was their blooming,
Their scent the air perfuming,
But now they are wither'd,
And a' wede away.

I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning;
The rude tempest storming,
Before the mid-day:

I've seen Tweed's silver streams
Glittering in the sunny beams,
Turn drumlie and dark

As they roamed on their way.

Oh, fickle Fortune!

Why this cruel sporting?

Why thus beguile us,

Poor sons of a day?

Thy frowns cannot fear me,
Thy smiles cannot cheer me,

Since the Flowers of the Forest

Are a' wede away.

This song has found many admirers, and the subject of it has found many poets. It was written by Miss Rutherford, daughter of Rutherford of Fairnalie, in

Selkirkshire-no one has ever mentioned it without praise, and no collection is thought complete that wants it. I prefer the song on the same subject by Miss Jane Elliott-nature always surpasses art; yet the union of the two is oftentimes exceedingly graceful and engaging.

In har'st, at the shearing,

Nae youths now are jeering;
Bandsters are runkled,

And lyart and gray;
At fair or at preaching,
Nae wooing, nae fleeching:
The Flowers of the Forest
Are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming,
Nae younkers are roaming

TeBout stacks, with the lassesAY ELA
At bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits eerie,
Lamenting her deary-

The Flowers of the Forest

Are a' wede away.

Dool and wae for the order
Sent our lads to the border!

The English for ance

By guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest
That fought ay the foremost,

The prime of our land

Are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting
At the ewe-milking,

This pathetic song requires neither praise nor comment; its pathos is the pathos of nature, and every heart that feels will understand it. At the period of the battle of Flodden, the Forest of Selkirk extended over part of Ayrshire and the Upper Ward of Clydesdale, and had therefore many warriors to lose on that fatal field. The fate of our gallant James seems yet dubious; but he was lost to his country, whatever became of him: the letters of the Earl of Surrey, edited by Mr. Ellis, throw some further historical light on this fatal fray. The body of the king was never identified; and the conduct of some of the Scottish leaders, during and after the battle, was sufficiently mysterious. We owe this exquisite song to Miss Jane Elliott of Minto.