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of Albany, I deem it probable that it was at this time that Burns composed a song in honor of that lady which has not till now seen the light.
My heart is wae, and unco wae,
This lovely maid's of royal blood
That ruled Albion's kingdoms three, But oh, alas! for her bonny face, They've wranged the Lass of Albany.
In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde
But there's a youth, a witless youth,
That fills the place where she should be;3 We'll send him o'er to his native shore, And bring our ain sweet Albany.
Alas the day, and wo the day,
2 Rothsay, the county town of Bute, gave a title to the eldest sons of the kings of Scotland (Duke of Rothsay).
3 An allusion to the Prince of Wales.
Who now commands the towers and lands, The royal right of Albany.
We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray,
ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT.
WHY, ye tenants of the lake,
At my presence thus you fly?
1 Prince Charles, at his death in 1788, left the Duchess of Albany his sole heir, but she did not long survive him. The above song is printed from a portion of a manuscript book in Burns's handwriting, which is now in the possession of Mr. B. Nightingale, London.
Conscious, blushing for our race,
And creatures for his pleasure slain.
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,
Man with all his powers you scorn;
BLITHE WAS SHE.
TUNE- Andro and his Cutty Gun.
The subject of these verses was Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, a beautiful creature of eighteen, already distinguished by the sobriquet of the “Flower of Strathmore."
BLITHE, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben: i. e. everywhere Blithe by the banks of Earn,
And blithe in Glenturit Glen.
By Auchtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw; birch-woods
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
Her bonny face it was as meek
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
The Highland hills I've wandered wide,
TUNE The Shepherd's Wife.
Burns had taken up his residence with Mr. William Cruikshank, a master in the Edinburgh High School. Mr. Cruikshank had a daughter Janet, a young girl of budding loveliness, and much promise as a pianist. To her the poet was indebted for many pleasant hours, in listening to his favorite Scottish airs. He also employed her voice and instrument in enabling him to adapt new verses to old airs for the Scots Musical Museum. He gratefully celebrated his favorite, little Miss Jenny Cruikshank, in the two following pieces.
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
1 An open space in a cornfield, generally a ridge left untilled.