mated by love: the present song by domestic thrift, and an affection for hill, and tree, and stream. Household industry seldom lent any inspiration to the Muse: over sewing, spinning, and knitting; kneading cakes, and pressing cheese; shaking straw, and winnowing corn; and all the range of in-door and out-door occupation, no Muse was appointed to preside-the more's the pity! LOGAN WATER. O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 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. Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, O wae upon you, men o' state, Sae may it on your How can your flinty hearts enjoy The widow's tears, the orphan's cry? But soon may peace bring happy days, Logan Water has found many poets; but the most successful of all its minstrels is John Mayne, Esq. whose song of that name echoes back the pure sentiments and glad feelings of the olden days of the Muse with great feeling and truth. The song of Mayne, as well as that of Burns, is founded on some old verses ; but the poet has only employed them in creating something more beautiful and delicate. Of the earlier song, the following may suffice for a specimen: Ae simmer night, on Logan braes, I helped a bonnie lassie on wi' her claes; First wi' her stockings, and syne wi' her shoon; Had I kenn'd then what I ken now The hero goes on to make the public his confidant; but the confession seems adapted for the secret and discreet ear of a father-confessor. THE POSIE. O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen, And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna take away; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' love, remove; And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. The air of this song was taken down from the voice of Mrs. Burns, who sang and danced in her earlier days with great beauty and grace. The old words which belonged to the tune have no great merit; they commence thus There was a pretty May, and a-milking she went, With her red rosie cheeks and her coal-black hair. Burns has pulled all the fairest flowers of garden and field, and showered them on his mistress. The song is a favourite. THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER. Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer, Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and cheerie, flee; And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnie ; 'Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me. Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky brae, While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain, That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me. |