And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and

sing,

And at night she'll return to her nest back again.

I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN.

I'll aye ca' in by yon town.

And by yon garden green, again;

I'll aye ca' in by yon town,

And see my bonnie Jean again.

There's nane sall ken, there's nane sall guess,
What brings me back the gate again,

But she my fairest, faithfu' lass,

And stownlins* we sall meet again.

She'll wander by the aiken tree,
When trystin-timet draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
O haith, she's doubly dear again!

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.

First when Maggy was my care,
Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
Now we're married-spier nae mair-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child-

Nearest to heaven ;-sweet emblem of his songt,
Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side!
Grahame's Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 4.

Stownlins-By stealth.

+ Trystin-time-The time of appointment.

Burns.

-Wiser men than me's beguil'd;

Whistle o'er the lave o't.

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see;

-Whistle o'er the lave o't.

Wha I wish were maggot's meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

Young Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa;
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud*,
Fu' lightly dane'd he in the ha'!
He roos'd my e'en sae bonnie blue,

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma;
An' aye my heart came to my mou,.
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,

Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw; And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.

An' aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';

An' aye he vows he'll be my ain
As lang's he has breath to draw.

M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Farewell, ye dungeons, dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!

The gaud-at the plough.

M'Pherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'da spring and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath A-
On mony a bloody plain

I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
Sae rantingly, &c.

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie;

It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

SONG.

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! What wad ye wish for mair, man? Wha kens, before his life may end, What his share may be of care, man?

Then catch the moments as they fly,
And use them as ye ought, man:~~
Believe me, happiness is shy,

And comes not aye when sought, man..

SONG.

Tune-Braes o' Balquhidder.

I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again,
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

My bonnie Peggy Alison!

Ilk care and fear, when they are near,
I ever mair defy them, O;
Young kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O;
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

And by thy e'en she bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, O!-
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

SONG*.

Tune-If he be a butcher neat and trim.

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass,
Could I describe her shape and mien:
The graces of her weelfar'd face,

And the glancin' of her sparklin' e'en.

She's fresher than the morning dawn
When rising Phoebus first is seen,
When dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn;
And she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,

That grows the cowslip braes between,
And shoots its head above each bush;
An' she's twa glancin', sparklin' e'en.

she's spotless as the flow'ring thorn,

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn;

An she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her looks are like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That shades the mountain side at e'en,
When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene,

This song was an early production. It was recovered by the editor from the oral communica tion of a lady residing at Glasgow, whom the bard in early life affectionately admired.