"still it has obtained a place among our more classical Scottish songs; and what with many beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will not find it easy to supplant it."

MAXWELTON BANKS.

MAXWELTON banks are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew;
Where me and Annie Laurie
Made up the promise true;
Made up the promise true,
And never forget will I;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'll lay me doun and die.
She's backit like the peacock,
She breistit like the swan,
She's jimp about the middle,
Her waist ye wcel micht span;
Her waist ye weel micht span,
And she has a rolling eye;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'll lay me doun and dic.

"These two verses," as we are informed by Mr. Robert Chambers, "were written by a Mr. Douglas of Fingland, upon Anne, one of the four daughters of Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet of Maxwelton, by his second wife, who was a daughter of Riddell of Minto. As Sir Robert was created a baronet in the year 1685, it is probable that the verses were composed about the end of the seventeenth or the beginning of the eighteenth century, It is painful to record, that, notwithstanding the ardent and chivalrous affection displayed by Mr. Douglas in his poem, he did not obtain the heroine for a wife: she was married to Mr. Ferguson of Craigdarroch."

The first four lines of the second stanza are taken from the old and indecent ballad of "John Anderson my Jo." "John Anderson," as it was sung before it was rendered presentable by Robert Burns, appeared in a very scarce volume of English songs, with the music, entitled "The Convivial Songster," published in 1782.

ANNIE LAURIE.

MAXWELTON braes are bonnie,
Where early fa's the dew;
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gied me her promise true;

Gied me her promise true,

Which ne'er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
Her neck is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on;
That e'er the sun shone on,
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.
Like dew on the gowan lying,
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet;
Her voice is low and sweet,

And she's a' the world to me;

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doun and dee.

This song, which is a modern version of the preceding, was the favourite of the British soldiers in their weary encampment before Sebastopol in 1854-5.

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.

ROBERT CRAWFORD.

From the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. Traquair is on the bank of the water or river of Quair, in Peebleshire.

HEAR me, ye nymphs and ev'ry swain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me;
Though thus I languish and complain,
Alas! she ne'er believes me.

My vows and sighs, like silent air,
Unheeded, never move her;
The bonnie bush aboon Traquair,
'Twas there I first did love her.

That day she smiled, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder;

I thought myself the luckiest lad,
So sweetly there to find her.

I tried to soothe my amorous flame
In words that I thought tender:
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame;
I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flies the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May,
Its sweets I'll aye remember ;
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.

Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my strains,
Why thus should Peggy grieve me?
Oh, make her partner in my pains,
Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
My passion no more tender;
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.

DOUN THE BURN, DAVIE.
ROBERT CRAWFORD.

WHEN trees did bud and fields were green,
And broom bloom'd fair to see;

When Mary was complete fifteen,
And love laugh'd in her ee,

Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free:
Gang doun the burn, Davie love,
An' I will follow thee.

Now Davie did each lad surpass
That dwelt on this burnside;
And Mary was the bonniest lass,
Just meet to be a bride :

Her cheeks were rosie, red and white;
Her een were bonnie blue;

Her looks were like the morning bright,
Her lips like dropping dew.

As doun the burn they took their way
An' through the flowery dale,
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,

An' love was aye the tale.

With, "Mary, when shall we return,

Sic pleasures to renew ?"

Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the burn,

An' aye will follow you."

This song first appeared in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany." The last stanza was added by Burns, who was informed by the tradition of his neighbourhood, that the air was the composition of one David Maigh, keeper of the bloodhounds to the Laird of Riddell in Roxburghshire.

ONE DAY I HEARD MARY SAY.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany."

ONE day I heard Mary say, How shall I leave thee?
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay; why wilt thou grieve me?
Alas! my fond heart would break, if thou should leave me ;
I'll live and die for thy sake, yet never leave thee!

Say, lovely Adonis, say, has Mary deceived thee?

Did e'er her young heart betray, love, that has grieved thee?
My constant mind ne'er shall stray; thou may believe me :
I'll love thee, lad, night and day, and never leave thee!

Adonis, my charming youth, what can relieve thee?
Can Mary thy anguish soothe? this breast shall receive thee.
My passion can ne'er decay, never deceive thee;
Delight shall drive pain away, pleasure revive thee.

But leave thee, leave thee, lad, how shall I leave thee?
Oh! that thought makes me sad: I'll never leave thee!
Where would my Adonis fly? Why does he grieve me?
Alas! my poor heart will die, if I should leave thee.

"One day I heard Mary say' is a fine song," says Burns to Thomson; "but for consistency's sake, alter the name of Adonis. Were there ever such banns published as a purpose of marriage between Adonis and Mary?"

MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724

LOVE never more shall give me pain,

My fancy's fixed on thee;

Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,
My Peggie, if thou dee.

Thy beauties did such pleasure give,

Thy love's so true to me;
Without thee I shall never live,
My dearie, if thou dee.

If fate shall tear thee from my breast,
How shall I lonely stray!

In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,
In sighs the silent day.

I ne'er can so much virtue find,

Nor such perfection see:
Then I'll renounce all womankind,
My Peggie, after thee.

No new-blown beauty fires my heart

With Cupid's raving rage;

But thine, which can such sweets impart,
Must all the world engage.

'Twas this that, like the morning sun,

Gave joy and life to me;

And when its destined day is done,
With Peggy let me dee.

Ye

powers that smile on virtuous love,
And in such pleasures share;

Ye who its faithful flames approve,
With pity view the fair;

Restore my Peggie's wonted charms,

Those charms so dear to me;

Oh, never rob them from those arms

I'm lost if Peggy dee.

The beautiful air to which this song is sung has been traced back in Ms. to the year 1692; but is probably much older.