For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as meikle's a' that,
The bonnie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.

Great love I bear to all the fair,
Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly, will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.

But there is ane aboon the lave,
Has wit, and sense, and a' that;

A bonnie lass, I like her best,

And wha a crime dare ca' that?
For a' that, &c.

In rapture sweet this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love and a' that;
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.

For a' that &c.

Their tricks and craft hae put me daft,
They've ta'en me in, and a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's 'The Sex!'
I like the jades for a' that.

For a' that, &c.

* This verse is omitted in the " Musical Museum."

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.‡

TUNE MISS FORBES' FAREWELL TO BANFF.

THOU lingering star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Mary Campbell, the subject of these exquisite lines, has been already noticed, ante. They were written on one of the anniversaries of her death, under the circumstances thus related by Mrs. Burns: Having spent the day which preceded the anniversary of Mary's death in the harvest field, in his usual spirits, he became gloomy and reserved towards evening, when he went into the barn-yard, and refused to come into the house. Having walked backwards and forwards for some time, looking at the sky, he threw himself upon some corn sheaves, with his eye fixed on a star of peculiar brightness. It was then midnight; and on his entering the house, he committed this exquisite song to paper, which ought not to be separated from the following passage in his letter to Mrs. Dunlop, 13th December, 1789:

"What is man! to-day in the luxuriance of health, exulting in the enjoyment of existence; in a few days, perhaps in a few hours, loaded with conscious painful being, counting the tardy pace of the lingering moments by the repercussions of anguish, and refusing or denied a comforter. Day follows night, and night comes after day, only to curse him with life which gives him no pleasure; and yet the

That sacred hour can I forget?
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene.

VAR. 1 can.

awful, dark termination of that life is a something at which he recoils.

Tell us, ye dead; will none of you in pity
Disclose the secret-

What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be !

'tis no matter:

A little time will make us learn'd as you are.

"Can it be possible, that when I resign this frail, feverish being, I shall still find myself in conscious existence! When the last gasp of agony has announced that I am no more to those that knew me, and the few who loved me; when the cold, stiffen'd, unconscious, ghastly corse is resigned into the earth, to be the prey of unsightly reptiles, and to become in time a trodden clod, shall I yet be warm in life, seeing and seen, enjoying and enjoyed? Ye venerable sages and holy flamens, is there probability in your conjectures, truth in your stories, of another world beyond death; or are they all alike, baseless visions, and fabricated fables? If there is another life, it must be only for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the humane: What a flattering idea, then, is the world to come! Would to God I as firmly believed it, as

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of3 rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

VAR. 2

stronger.

3

place of heavenly.

I ardently wish it! There I should meet an aged parent, now at rest from the many buffetings of an evil world, against which he so long and so bravely struggled. There should I meet the friend, the disinterested friend of my early life; the man who rejoiced to see me, because he loved me and could serve me.—— -Muir! thy weaknesses were the aberrations of human nature, but thy heart glowed with everything generous, manly, and noble; and if ever emanation from the all-good Being animated a human form, it was thine!-There should I, with speechless agony of rapture, again recognize my lost, my ever dear Mary! whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, constancy, and love. My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of heavenly rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?"

The variations are from a copy in the Poet's own hand.

TO MARY.*

COULD aught of song declare my pains,
Could artful numbers move thee,
The Muse should tell, in labour'd strains,
O Mary, how I love thee!

They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish;
But what avails the pride of art,
When wastes the soul with anguish?

Then let the sudden bursting sigh
The heart-felt pang discover;
And in the keen, yet tender eye,
O read th' imploring lover.

For well I know thy gentle mind
Disdains art's gay disguising;
Beyond what fancy e'er refin'd,
The voice of nature prizing.

This song is inserted in Johnson's Museum, with the name of Burns attached to it.