What doubts diftract a lover's mind?
That breaft, all softness, must prove
And the fhall yet become my marrow,
The lovely beauteous rofe of Yarrow.

*************

SONG

kind;

*********

CCXLV.

DEAR Tom, this brown jug that now foams with

mild ale,

In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale,
Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old foul
As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl;
In bouzing about 'twas his praise to excel,
And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd that in dog-days he fat at his ease, In his flower-woven arbour, as gay as you please, With a friend and a pipe puffing forrow away, And with honeft old ftingo was foaking his clay, His breath-doors of life on a fudden were fhut, And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had refolv'd it again,

A potter found out in its covert fo fnug,

And with part of fat Toby he form'd this brown jug,
Now facred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale,
So here's to my lovely fweet Nan of the vale.

SONG

CCXLVI.

HAY'S BONNY LASSI E.

Y smooth winding Tay a fwain was reclining,
Aft cry'd he, oh hey! maun I ftill live pining

Myfell thus awa', and darena discover
To my bonny Hay that I am her lover?

Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes stronger;
If fhe's not my bride, my days are no longer;
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture,
May be, 'ere we part, my vows may content her.

She's fresh as the fpring, and sweet as Aurora, When birds mount and fing, bidding day a good morrow; The fwaird of the mead, enamell'd with daifies, Looks wither'd and dead when twin'd of her graces.

But if the appears where verdure invites her, The fountains run clear, and flowers fmell the fweeter; 'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a flowing, Her fmiles and fweet eye fet my fpirits a glowing.

The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded, Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded, I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye,

For a' my defire is Hay's bonny laffie.

学

SONG

CCXLVII.

BONNY LASS LIE IN A BARRACK.

Bonny lafs will you lie in a barrack,

And marry a foger and carry his wallet?

Yes I will go, and think no more on it,
I'll marry my Harry and carry his wallet;

I'll neither ask leave of my minnie nor daddie,
But off and away with my foger laddie.

I

O bonny lafs will you go a campaigning? Will you fuffer the hardships of battle and famine ? When fainting and bleeding, O cou'd you draw near me? And kindly fupport me, and tenderly chear me?

O yes
I will go, tho' thefe evils you mention,
And twenty times more if you had the invention;

T

Neither hunger, nor cold, nor dangers alarm me,
While I have my foldier, my dearelt, to charm me.

***

SONG CCXLVIII.

LAST TIME I CAME O ER THE MUIR.

THE laft time I came o'er the muir,

I left my love me:

Ye powers! what pain do I endure,
When foft ideas mind me?
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd
The beaming day enfuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid,
In fit retreats for wooing.

Beneath the cooling fhade we lay,
Gazing and chastely sporting;
We kifs'd and promis'd time away,
Till night fpread her black curtain.
I pitied all beneath the skies,

Even Kings, when he was nigh me;
In raptures I beheld her eyes,

Which cou'd but ill deny me.

Shou'd I be call'd, where cannons roar,
Where mortal fteel may wound me ;
Or caft upon fome foreign fhore,
Where dangers may furround me;
Yet hopes again to fee my love,
To feaft on glowing kiffes,
Shall make my care at diftance move,
In profpect of fuch bliffes.

In all my foul there's not one place
To let a rival enter;

Since the excels in every grace,
In her my love fhall center.
Sooner the feas fhall ceafe to flow,
Their waves the Alps fhall cover;

On Greenland-ice fhall roses grow,

Before I ceafe to love her.

The next time I gang o'er the muir,
She fhall a lover find me;

And that my faith is firm and pure,
Tho' I left her behind me:
Then Hymen's facred bonds fhall chain
My heart to her fair bofom;
There, while my being does remain,
My love more fresh fhall bloffom.

SONG

CCXLIX.

THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE.

IN

N April when primroses paint the sweet plain, And fummer approaching rejoiceth the swain; The yellow-hair'd laddie would often times go

To wilds and deep glens where the hawthorn trees grow.

There, under the fhade of an old facred thorn,
With freedom he fung his love ev'ning and morn;
He fang with fo faft and enchanting a found,
That fylvans and fairies unfeen danc'd around.

The fhepherd thus fung, Tho' young Maya be fair,
Her beauty is dafh'd with a fcornfu' proud air;
But Sufie was handfome, and sweetly cou'd fing;
Her breath like the breezes perfum'd in the fpring.

That Madie in all the gay bloom of her youth, Like the moon was inconftant, and never spoke truth; But Sufie was faithful, good-humour'd and free, And fair as the goddess that fprung from the fea.

That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dow'r, Was aukwardly airy, and frequently fowr;

Then, fighing, he with'd, wou'd parents agree,
The witty fweet Sufie his miftrefs might be.

H

ER fheep had in clusters kept close to a grove,
To hide from the rigours of day;

And Phillis herself, in a woodbine alcove,

Among the sweet violets lay:

A youngling, it seems, had been ftole from its dam,
'Twixt Cupid and Hymen a plot,

That Corydon might, as he search'd for his lamb,
Arrive at the critical spot.

As thro' the gay hedge for his lambkin he peeps,

He faw the fweet maid with furprise;

"Ye gods! if fo killing," he cry'd, "when she fleeps, "I'm loft when she opens her eyes!

"To tarry much longer would hazard my heart,

"I'll onwards my lambkin to trace :"

In vain honeft Corydon ftrove to depart,
For love held him nail'd to the place.

"Hush, hufh'd be these birds, what a bawling they keep (He cry'd) you're too loud on the spray;

"Don't you fee, foolish lark, that the charmer's asleep! "You'll awake her as fure as 'tis day:

"How dare that fond butterfly touch the sweet maid! "Her cheek he mistakes for a rofe;

"I'd put him to death, if I was not afraid

66

My boldness would break her repose.”

Young Phillis look'd up with a languishing fmile: .
"Kind fhepherd," the faid, " you mistake;
"I laid myself down juft to reft me a while;
"But truft me I've ftill been awake."

The fhepherd took courage, advanc'd with a bow,
He plac'd himself close by her fide;