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STREPHON AND LYDIA.

All lonely on the sultry beach

Expiring Strephon lay,

No hand the cordial draught to reach,
Nor cheer the gloomy way.
Ill-fated youth! no parent nigh
To catch thy fleeting breath,
No bride to fix thy swimming eye,
Or smooth the face of death!

Far distant from the mournful scene
Thy parents sit at ease,
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain,

And all the spring, to please.

Ill fated youth! by fault of friend,
Not force of foe, depress'd,

Thou fall'st, alas! thyself, thy kind,
Thy country, unredress'd!

The author of this touching song was William Wallace, Esq., of Cairnhall, county of Ayr: and I am sorry he has left only this very brief proof of very fine lyric powers. He has erred with others in the use of unnatural names-Strephon and Lydia give the air of fiction to a very true and mournful story. The hero and heroine were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time.

The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the "Gentle Jean," celebrated in Mr. Hamilton of Bangour's poems. Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena, in the year 1740.

THE BOATIE ROWS.

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel:

Meikle luck attend the boats,

The murlain, and the creel.

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I coost my line in Largo bay,
And fishes I catch'd nine;
'Twas three to boil, and three to fry,
And three to bait the line.

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed; And happy be the lot of a'

Who wishes her to speed.

O weel may the boatie row
That fills a heavy creel,

And cleads us a' frae head to feet,
And buys our porritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;

And happy be the lot of a'

That wish the boatie speed.

When Jamie vow'd he would be mine,
And wan frae me my heart,
O muckle lighter grew my creel!
He swore we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel;
And muckle lighter is the lade
When love bears up the creel.

My kurch I put upon my head,
And dress'd mysel' fu' braw,
I trow my heart was douf an' wae
When Jamie gaed awa':

But weel may the boatie row,

And lucky be her part;

And lightsome be the lassie's care
That yields an honest heart.

When Sawney, Jock, and Janetie,
Are up, and gotten lear,
They'll help to gar the boatie row,
And lighten a' our care.

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows fu' weel;

And lightsome be her heart that bears

The murlain and the creel.

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Burns says the author of this song was a Mr. Ewan of Aberdeen." It is a charming display of womanly affection, mingling with the common concerns and daily avocations of humble life. We have very few of these maritime lyrics, and what we have are not excellent. The Scottish poets seem averse to go down to the sea in ships, and view the wonders of the Lord on the deep. The varied fortunes of a mariner or a fisherman-his obedience to the tide-his knowledge of wild shoresof the productions of the sea, and his laborious occupation, are all poetic. Several curious communities of fishermen belong to the Scottish coast.

RED GLEAMS THE SUN.

Red gleams the sun on yon

hill tap,

The dew sits on the gowan;

Deep murmurs thro' her glens the Spey,
Around Kinrara rowan.

Where art thou, fairest, kindest lass?

Alas! wert thou but near me,
Thy gentle soul, thy melting e'e
Would ever, ever cheer me.

The laverock sings among the clouds,
The lambs they sport so cheerie,
And I sit weeping by the birk ;
O where art thou, my dearie!
Aft may I meet the morning dew,
Lang greet till I be weary;
Thou canna, winna, gentle maid!
Thou canna be my dearie.

This sweet short song was written by Dr. Robert Couper, and published about the year 1790. The name which the author gave it was "Kinrara ;" and Kinrara was the summer residence of the late Duchess of Gordon, to whom he dedicated two volumes of verse.

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