She gazed-she redden'd like a rose-
Syne1 pale like ony lily;

She sank within my arms, and cried,
"Art thou my ain dear Willie ?"
"By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded!

"The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Though poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair, we'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen 2 plenish'd fairly;

And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!"

For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor ;

But glory is the sodger's prize,

The sodger's wealth is honour:
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember, he's his country's stay
In day and hour of danger.

1 Then. 2 Farm.

MEG O' THE MILL.

Air-"Hey! bonny lass, will you lie in a barrack?"

OH, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She has gotten a coof3 wi' a claut o' siller,1
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', bleerit knurl;5
She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

The miller he hecht 6 her a heart leal and loving;
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
A fine-pacing horse, wi' a clear-chain'd bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonny side-saddle.

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

SECOND VERSION.

Tune-" Jackie Hume's Lament."

OH, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
A braw new naig2 wi' the tail o' a rottan,
And that's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten.

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill loe's dearly?
And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es dearly?
A dram o' guid strunt3 in a morning early,
And that's what Meg o' the Mill loe's dearly.

Oh, ken he how Meg o' the Mill was married?
And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married?
The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he was carried,
And that's how Meg o' the Mill was married.

Oh, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded?
And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded?
The groom gat sae fou, he fell twa-fauld beside it,
And that's how Meg o' the Mill was bedded.

WELCOME TO GENERAL DUMOURIER.

SUGGESTED by the desertion of Dumourier from the army of the French Re public, after he had gained several splendid victories.

YOU'RE Welcome to despots, Dumourier;

You're welcome to despots, Dumourier ;

How does Dampiere* do?

Ay, and Beurnonville + too?

Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?

I will fight France with you, Dumourier
I will fight France with you, Dumourier;
I will fight France with you,

I will take my chance with you;

;

By my soul, I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier.

1 Dowry.

*One of Dumourier's generals.

2 Horse.

3 Whisky.

† An emissary of the Convention's.

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,

Till Freedom's spark is out,

Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Dumourier.

THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR.

THE last time I came o'er the moor,
And left Maria's dwelling,

What throes, what tortures passing cure,
Were in my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to see my rival's reign,

While I in secret languish ;

To feel a fire in every vein,

Yet dare not speak my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I
Fain, fain my crime would cover:
The unweeting groan, the bursting sigh,
Betray the guilty lover.

I know my doom must be despair,
Thou wilt nor canst relieve me ;
But, O Maria, hear my prayer,
For pity's sake, forgive me!

The music of thy tongue I heard,
Nor wist while it enslaved me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had saved me.
The unwary sailor thu, aghast
The wheeling torrent viewing,
In circling horrors, yields at last
In overwhelming ruin!

FAREWELL, THOU STREAM.

Tune-"Nancy's to the greenwood gane."

THIS is another version of the preceding. Both of these songs are supposed to have for heroine Mrs. Riddel of Woodley Park. There is no reason to presume that they owe their origin to aught save poetic licence.

FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!

O Memory! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:

米

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish ;
To feel a fire in every vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer-
For pity's sake forgive me!

The music of thy voice I heard,

Nor wist while it enslaved me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
'Till fears no more had saved me:
The unwary sailor thus, aghast

The wheeling torrent viewing;
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.

BLITHE HAE I BEEN.

Tune-"Liggeram Cosh."

THE heroine of this song was Miss Lesley Baillie, a lady, he told Mrs. Dunlop, with whom he was almost in love. He celebrates her charms in another song, 'Bonny Lesley," p. 387.

BLITHE hae I been on yon hill,

As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,

As the breeze flew o'er me.
Now ae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang can please me;
Lesley is sae fair and coy,

Care and anguish seize me.

Heavy, heavy is the task,
Hopeless love declaring:

Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,1
Sighing, dumb, despairing!

If she winna ease the thraws

In my bosom swelling;

Underneath the grass-green sod
Soon maun be my dwelling.

Dare nought but starę.

LOGAN BRAES.

Tune-"Logan Water."

THE following, from a letter to Thomson, is the poet's account of the origin of this song:-"Have you ever, my dear sir, felt your bosom ready to burst with indignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide kingdom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or often from still more ignoble passions? In a mood of this kind to-day, I recollected the air of 'Logan Water,' and it occurred to me that its querulous melody probably had its origin from the plaintive indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides of some public destroyer; and overwhelmed with private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have done anything at all like justice to my feelings, the following song, composed in three quarters of an hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought

to have some merit.'

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride!
And years sinsyne1 hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun.
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie 2 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.

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.

Oh, wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Sae may it on your heads return !

1 Since then.

2 Clouded and rainy.