The father was steel, and the mother was stone,
They lifted the latch, and bade him be gone;
But loud on the morrow their wail and their cry-
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonnie black eye;
And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,
And the youth it was told by, was— -Allen-a-Dale!

53.-BONNIE JEAN.-Burns.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the West;
For there the bonnie lassie lives, the lassie I lo’e best:

There wild woods grow, and rivers row, and mony a hill between;
But, day and night, my fancy's flight is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonny flower that springs by fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonny bird that sings, but minds me

my Jean.

O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft amang the leafy trees;
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale bring hame the laden becs;
And bring the lassie back to me that's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care-sae charming is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes hae pass'd atween us twa!
How fond to meet-how wae to part, that night she gaed awa!
The Powers aboon can only ken, to whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me as my sweet lovely Jean.

54. THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT.- Burns.

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
The murmuring streamlet runs clear through the vale;
The hawthorn-trees blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild-scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale.
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,
While the lingering moments are number'd by care?
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing,
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
The deed that I dared could it merit their malice,

A king and a father to place on his throne?
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn;
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn :
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial,
Alas! can I make you no sweeter return?

55.-THE DYING SOLDIER.-Burns.

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the bright setting sun!

Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties!
Our race of existence is run.

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go frighten the coward and slave!

Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know
No terrors hast thou to the brave.

Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;

Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark !—
He falls in the blaze of his fame.

In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands,

Our king and our country to save,

While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,

Oh, who would not die with the brave!

56.-THE BANKS O' DOON.-Burns.

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, how can ye bloom sae fresh and fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, an' I sae weary, fu' o' care!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, that wantons through the flowering thorn:

Thou mind'st me o' departed joys, departed-never to return!

Oft have I rov'd by bonnie Doon, to see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its love, and fondly sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my false lover stole my rose...but, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

57.-THE BANKS OF AYR-Burns.

1 The gloomy night is gathering fast, loud roars the wild inconstant blast; yon murky cloud is foul with rain, I see it driving o'er the plain : the hunter now has left the moor, the scatter'd coveys meet secure; while here I wander, press'd with care, along the lonely banks of Ayr. 2 The

Autumn, mourns her ripening corn by early Winter's ravage torn; across her placid azure sky, she sees the scowling tempest fly: chill runs my blood to hear it rave; I think upon the stormy wave, where many a danger I must dare, far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 'Tis not the surging billows' roar, 'tis not that fatal, deadly shore; though death in every shape appear, the wretched have no more to fear: but round my heart the ties are bound -that heart transpierced with many a wound; these bleed afresh, those ties I tear, to leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, her heathy moors and winding vales; the scenes where wretched fancy roves, pursuing past, unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! my peace with these, my love with those: the bursting tears my heart declare-farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr!

4

58.-AULD ROBIN GRAY.-Lady A. Lindsay.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride;

But saving a crown he had nae wealth beside:

To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;

And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stol'n awa';
My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea—
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ;
I toil'd baith day and night, but their bread I couldna win;
Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e,
Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me !"

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and his ship it was a wrack-
His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jennie dee?
Oh! why was I spared to cry, Wae's me!

My father urgit sair; my mother didna speak,

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was at the sea;
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith-for I couldna think it he
Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee."

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and tore ourselves away;
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why do I live to say, Wae's me!

I

gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;

I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.

59.-DAYS GONE BYE.-Aytoun.

In the silence of my chamber, when the night is still and deep,
And the drowsy heave of ocean mutters in its charmed sleep,
Oft I hear the angel-voices that have thrill'd me long ago—
Voices of my lost companions, lying deep beneath the snow.
O, the garden I remember, in the gay and sunny Spring,
When our laughter made the thickets and the arching alleys ring!
O the merry burst of gladness! O the soft and tender tone!
O the whisper, never utter'd save to one fond ear alone!

O the light of life that sparkled in those bright and bounteous eyes!
O the blush of happy beauty-tell-tale of the heart's surprise!
O the radiant light that girdled field and forest, land and sea,
When we all were young together, and the earth was new to me!

Where are now the flowers we tended?...wither'd, broken, branch and stem;

Where are now the hopes we cherish'd ?...scatter'd to the winds with them. For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones! nursed in hope and rear'd in love, Looking fondly ever upward to the clear blue heaven above.

60.-MARY'S DREAM.-Lowe.

The moon had climb'd the highest hill which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And, from the eastern summit, shed her silver light on tower and tree,
When Mary laid her down to sleep, her thoughts on him she loved, at sea;
And soft and low a voice was heard, saying, "Mary, weep no more for me!"
She from her pillow gently raised her head, to ask who there might be;
She saw her lover shivering stand, with visage pale and hollow ee;
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay; it lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far, far from thee I sleep in death; so, Mary, weep no more for me!

"Three stormy nights and stormy days we toss'd upon the raging main, And long we strove our bark to save; but all our striving was in vain. Even then, when horror chilled my blood, my heart was fill'd with love for thee:

The storm is past, and I at rest; so, Mary, weep no more for me!

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare; we soon shall meet upon that shore Where love is free from doubt and care, and thou and I shall part no more."... Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled, no more her lover could she see; But soft the passing Spirit said, "Sweet Mary, weep no more for me."

61.-THE BRAES OF YARROW.-Logan.

"Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream, when first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, when now thy waves his body cover!
For ever, now, O Yarrow stream! thou art to me a stream of sorrow;
For never on thy banks shall I behold my love, the flower of Yarrow!

He promised me a milk-white steed, to bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page, to squire me to his father's towers;
He promised me a wedding-ring-the wedding day was fixed to-morrow;
Now, he is wedded to his grave-alas, his watery grave-in Yarrow !
Sweet were his words when last we met, my passion I as freely told him :
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought that I should never more behold him.
Scarce was he gone-I saw his ghost! it vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow :
Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, and gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.
His mother from the window look'd, with all the longing of a mother;
His little sister weeping walk'd the greenwood path to meet her brother:
They sought him east, they sought him west, they sought him all the forest
thorough;

They only saw the cloud of night-they only heard the roar of Yarrow.

No longer from thy window look; thou hast no son, thou tender mother!
No longer walk, thou lovely maid; alas, thou hast no more a brother!
No longer seek him east or west, no longer search the forest thorough;
For, wandering in the night so dark, he fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.
The tear shall never leave my cheek, no other youth shall be my marrow;
I'll seek thy body in the stream, and then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.”...
-The tear did never leave her cheek, no other youth became her marrow;
She found his body in the stream, and now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.