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The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blythly bear it,
And think


lot divine.

I have just been looking over the Collier's bonny Dochter ; and if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day, on a charming Ayrshire girl, Miss, as she passed through this place to England, will suit your taste better than the Collier Lassie, fall on and welcome.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,

And never made anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.


The Deil he could na scaith thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,

“I canna wrang thee."

And say,

The powers aboon will tent thee;

Misfortune sha'na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag, we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.

I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs, until more leisure, as they will take, and deserve, a greater effort. However, they are all put into your hands, as clay into the hands of the potter, to make one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour. Farewell, &c.


No. VI.





your flowers,

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around,

The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair

Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry :
For there I took the last fareweel

my sweet Highland Mary..


How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom !
As underneath their fragrant shade,

I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.




Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,

Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;
But Oh ! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early !
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly !
And clos'd for ay, the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within


bosom's core, Shall live my Highland Mary.

14th November, 1792.

I AGREE with


that the song, Katharine Ogie, is very poor stuff, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I tried to mend it, but the awkward sound Ogie recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece.


The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart, that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition.

I have partly taken your idea of Auld Rob Morris. I have adopted the two first verses, and am going on with the song on a new plan, which promises pretty well. I take up one or another, just as the bee of the moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do you, sans ceremonie, make what use you choose of the productions. Adieu ! &c.

No. VII.


Edinburgh, Nov. 1792. DEAR SIR,

I was just going to write to you, that on meeting with your Nanie I had fallen violently in love with her. I thank you, therefore, for C 2


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