Sun, gallop down the westlin skies,
Gang soon to bed and quickly rise;
O lash your steeds, post time away,
And haste about our bridal day:
And if ye're wearied, honest Light,
Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night!

Amid much homeliness of thought and occasional coarseness of language, Allan Ramsay often rose into fine bursts of fancy, and expressed himself with an ease and a dignity worthy of a poet of romance. See with what happiness he admonishes the sun to exert his speed that the bridal day may sooner come; and with what familiar, yet poetic naïveté, he gives him remission from his toil and soothes him down with the permission to sleep a week on the bridal night! This song was written for the Gentle Shepherd, the only dramatic pastoral in the language, which finds all its beauties both of manners and of character in the land where it is laid.

THE WELL TOCHER'D LASS.

I was ance a well tocher'd lass,
My mither left dollars to me;
But now I'm brought to a poor pass,
My stepdame has gart them flee.

My father he's aften frae hame,

And she plays the deil with his gear ; She neither has lawtith nor shame,

And keeps the hale house in a steer.

She's barmy-fac'd, thriftless, and bauld,
And gars me aft fret and repine;
While hungry, half-naked, and cauld,
I see her destroy what's mine:
But soon I might hope a revenge,
And soon of my sorrows be free,
My poortith to plenty wad change,
If she were hung up on a tree.

Quoth Ringan, wha lang time had loo'd This bonny lass tenderlie,

I'll take thee, sweet May, in thy snood, Gif thou wilt gae hame with me. 'Tis only yoursel that I want,

Your kindness is better to me Than a' that your stepmother, scant Of grace, now has taken frae thee.

I'm but a young farmer, 'tis true,
And ye are the sprout of a laird;
But I have milk cattle enow,

And routh of good rucks in my yard. Ye shall have naithing to fash ye,

Sax servants shall jouk to thee: Then kilt up thy coats, my lassie,

And gae thy ways hame with me.

The maiden her reason employ'd,

Not thinking the offer amiss,
Consented-while Ringan o'erjoy'd,
Receiv'd her with mony a kiss.
And now she sits blithely singan,
And joking her drunken stepdame,
Delighted with her dear Ringan,

That makes her goodwife at hame.

This song is from Allan Ramsay's collection, and is directed to be sung to the ancient air of "Gin the Kirk wad let me be." I know not if Ramsay had any knowledge of the humorous song of which this tune bears the name. The song which supplies its place bears no resemblance to it, and is something less lively than most of the old lyrics which sing of domestic affection and fireside enjoyments. Of the song of " Gin the Kirk wad let me be," several versions existed; but if they exhibited varied humour, they also showed varied grossness; and wormwood and gall as they must have been to the kirk session, their indelicacy stood in the way of their fame. The reputation which their liveliness would bring, their open grossness and their approach to profanity would destroy.

UP IN THE AIR.

Now the sun's gane out o' sight,
Beet the ingle, and snuff the light;
In glens the fairies skip and dance,
And witches wallop o'er to France.
Up in the air

On my bonny gray mare,

And I see her yet, and I see her yet.

The wind's drifting hail and sna'
O'er frozen hags, like a foot-ba';
Nae starns keek thro' the azure slit,
'Tis cauld, and mirk as ony pit.
The man i' the moon

Is carousing aboon ;

D'ye see, d'ye see, d'ye see him yet?

Take your glass to clear your een,
"Tis the elixir heals the spleen;
Baith wit and mirth it will inspire,
And gently beets the lover's fire.
Up in the air,

It drives away care;

Have wi' you, have wi' you, have wi' you lads yet.

Steek the doors, haud out the frost,

Fill the cup, and give us your toast;

Till it lads, and lilt it out,

And let us hae a blythesome bout.
Up wi''t! there, there!

Dinna cheat, but drink fair.

Huzza, huzza, and huzza lads yet.

When the wine is coming in, and the wit going round-and man stands on the line that separates drunkenness from sobriety, this song of Allan Ramsay's ought to be sung. The midnight hour of songs and clatter, when the spirit is up and discretion is sinking, has been hit off with infinite humour and glee. It required, perhaps, in those days, no very inordinate elevation in drink, to see witches posting through the nocturnal air; but to behold the man in the moon indulging in a deep carouse demanded a large supply of wine, and a curious fancy. We are a grave, and, perhaps, a thoughtful people, and our songs, recording the boisterous merriment and indulgence of the table, are very few; yet what we have are excellent, and seem to have been all composed under different influences of the divinity of drink.