For our sincere, though haply weak endeav

ours,

With grateful pride we own your many fa

vours;

And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

MY LOVELY NANCY.

TUNE-The Quaker's Wife.

About this time [the end of January, 1790,] the Clarinda correspondence was for a moment renewed. Burns closed his first letter with the following song, being, he says, one of his latest productions. From few men besides Burns could any lady have expected, along with an apology for deserting her only twenty months ago, a pleasant-faced canzonet of compliment declaring the world to be lightless without love.

THINE am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Every pulse along my veins,
Every roving fancy.

To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish :

Though despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,

Rich with balmy treasure;
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure.

What is life when wanting love?
Night without a morning:
Love's the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.

PROLOGUE FOR MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT-NIGHT, DUMFRIES.

Towards the conclusion of the theatrical season at Dumfries, Coila came once more to the aid of Mr. Manager Sutherland; but it cannot be said that her effusion was such as to hold forth a very favorable prognostic of dramatic effort.

WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon❜on, How this new play and that new sang is comin'? Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted? Does nonsense mend, like whisky, when imported?

Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame,
Will try to gie us songs and plays at hame ?
For comedy abroad he needna toil;

A fool and knave are plants of every soil.
Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and Greece
To gather matter for a serious piece :
There's themes enough in Caledonian story,
Would shew the tragic Music in a' her glory.

Is there no daring bard will rise, and tell
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell?
Where are the Muses fled that could produce
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce?
How here, even here, he first unsheathed the
sword

'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord; And after monie a bloody, deathless doing, Wrenched his dear country from the jaws of ruin?

O for a Shakspeare or an Otway scene,
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish Queen!
Vain all th' omnipotence of female charms
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad rebellion's arms.
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Roman,
To glut the vengeance of a rival woman:
A woman - though the phrase may seem un-
civil

As able and as cruel as the devil!

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, But Douglasses were heroes every age:

And though your fathers, prodigal of life,
A Douglas followed to the martial strife,
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right suc- roll
ceeds,

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas leads!
As ye hae generous done, if a' the land
Would take the Muses' servants by the hand;
Not only hear, but patronise, befriend them,
And where ye justly can commend, commend

them;

And aiblins when they winna stand the test, perhaps Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their

best!

Would a' the land do this, then I'll be caution
Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish nation,
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack,
And warsle Time, and lay him on his strive with
back!

For us and for our stage should ony spier, ask "Wha's aught thae chiels maks Who are those fellows a' this bustle here?"

My best leg foremost, I'll set up my brow,
We have the honour to belong to you!
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us as ye like,
But like guid mithers, shore before you threaten

strike.

And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find us,
For a' the patronage and meikle kindness

We've got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks:
God help us! we're but poor-ye'se get but

thanks.

CONTRIBUTIONS

TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF JOHNSON'S MUSEUM.

TIBBIE DUNBAR.

TUNE-Johnny M'Gill.

The third volume of the Scots Musical Museum had been going on, somewhat more slowly than the second, but with an equal amount of assistance from Burns. Besides the songs already cited since the date of the second volume, he contributed many which, as they bore no particular reference to his own history, nor any other trait by which the exact date of their composition could be ascertained, are here presented in one group. Several of them are, however, only old

songs mended or extended by Burns.

O WILT thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar ? Wilt thou ride on a horse or be drawn in a

car,

Or walk by my side, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

I carena thy daddie, his lands and his money,
I carena thy kin, sae high and sae lordly;
But say thou wilt hae me, for better for waur,
And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dun- shift
bar!