ROSLIN CASTLE. 'Twas in that season of the year When all things gay and sweet appear, Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung, Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring O hark, my love! on ev'ry spray, O come, my love! thy Colin's lay With rapture calls, O come away! Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine O! hither haste, and with thee bring That beauty blooming like the spring, And charm this ravish'd breast of mine! This song is attributed to a youth of the name of Richard Hewit, sometime amanuensis and companion to Dr. Blacklock. During the period of the blind poet's residence in Cumberland, Hewit led him about; and, on quitting his service, addressed some verses to his friend, in which he alludes to the narrative ballads and songs with which the country people cheer their firesides, and of which he was himself a faithful rehearser. Of the author I am sorry I can give no further account. The old ballads which he loved to repeat have sunk into oblivion with him, unless some of them had the good fortune to meet the eye of Sir Walter Scott. FAIREST OF THE FAIR. O Nannie, wilt thou gang wi' me, Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town; Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lowly cot and russet gown? Nae langer drest in silken sheen, O Nannie, when thou'rt far awa', Severest hardships learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nannie, canst thou love so true, Through perils keen wi' me to gae? Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pang of wae? And when invading pains befall, Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Nor wishful those gay scenes recall, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? And when at last thy love shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting breath? Where thou wert fairest of the fair? This very natural and charming song has been welcomed in Scotland as one of its own productions; and indeed in language and feeling it is quite northern. The imitation of the songs of Caledonia is as happy as any of the Bishop of Dromore's English productions. As a compensation to our southern friends for admitting this lyric among those of the north, I shall exclude many Anglo-Scottish productions which for some time have mingled with ours. No English poet has caught up the language and the character of our national songs with such happiness and skill as Percy; and I believe no poet and critic has rendered such essential benefit to the literature of the island. The publication of the Reliques of English Poetry recalled the taste of the country to the simple and the natural, and exposed the poverty of the cold and glittering style which came, with other fashions, from abroad. THE LEA RIG. Will ye gang o'er the lea rig, Nae herd wi' kent or colly there At gloamin', if my lane I be, And mony a heavy sigh I gie, When absent frae my dearie-o: Enraptur'd, a' my cares I scorn, |