And gild the distant mountain's brow;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin e’en.

1 1

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush

That sings in Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush ;

An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. Her lips are like the cherries ripe,

That sunny walls from boreas screen, They tempt the taste and charm the sight :

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

Her teeth are like a flock of sbeep,

With fleeces newly washen clean, That slowly mount the rising steep:

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

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phæbus sinks behind the seas :

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

But it's not her air, her form, her face,

Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, Bnt the mind that shines in every grace,

And chiefly in her sparklin e'en.

WAE IS MY HEART.

Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my e’e:
Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me :
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

Love, thou hast pleasures : and deep hae I loved:
Love, thou hast sorrows: and sair hae I proved :
But this tised heart that now bleeds in my breast,
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest.

o if I were, where happy I hae been :
Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green:
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me,
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e’e.,

FRAGMENT.

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Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing :
How sweet upto that breast to cling,

And round that neck entwine her !

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast. her bonnie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,

A crimson still diviner.

BALLAD.

To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,

Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,
Though prest wi’ care and sunk in woe,

To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,

Tho' mem’ry there my bosom tear ;
For there he rov'd that brake my heart,

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear !

FRAGMENT.

The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,

And the small birds sing on every tree;
Now every thing is glad while I am very sad,

Since my true love is parted from me.

The rose upon the brier by the waters running

clear, May have charms for the linnet or bee; Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts

at rest, But my true love is parted from me.

SONG.

Tune-Banks of Banna.

Yestreen I had a pint o'wine,

A place where body saw na';
Yestreen Jay on this breast o' mine

The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness,

Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss

Upon the lips of Anna.

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,

Frae Indus to Savannah !
Gie me within my straining grasp

The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,

An empress or sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms

I give and take with Anna!

Awa thou flaunting god o' day!

Awa thou pale Diana !
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray

When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night,

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write

My transports wi' my Anna !

SONG

The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town,

And danc'd awa wi' the exciseman; And ilka wife cry'd, “auld mahoun,

We wish you luck o' the prize, man.

6 We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,

We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; And mony thanks to the muckle black deil,

That danc'd awa wi' the exciseman.

“ There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,

There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; But the ae best dance e'er cam to our lan', Was--the Deil's awa wi' the exciseman,

56 We'll mak our maut, c."

SONG.

Powers celestial, whose protection

Ever guards the virtuous fair,
While in distant climes I wander,

Let my Mary be your care :
Let her form sae fair and faultless,

Fair and faultless as your own ;
Let my Mary's kindred spirit

Draw your choicest influence down.

Make the gales you waft around her

Soft and peaceful as her breast;
Breathing in the breeze that fans her,

Sooth her bosom into rest :

* At a meeting of his brother excisemen in Dumfries, Burns, being called upon for a song, handed these verses extempore to the president, written on the back of a letter, Vol. II.

M

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Guardian angels, o protect her,

When in distant lands I roam ;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,

Make her bosom still my home*.

HUNTING SONG.

I red you beware at the hunting.

The heather was blooming, the meadows were

mawn,
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discovered a bonnie moor-hen.

I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring,
But cannilie steal on a bonnie noor-hen.

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather

bells,
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
Ner plumage out-lustred the pride o' the spring,
And, O! as she 'wantoned gay on the wing.

I red, doc.

Auld Phæbus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill;
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill;
He leveli'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae-
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she
lay.

I red, dc.

• Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve of the poet's departure to the West Indies