clefechan, proving, that drunk or sober, your " mind is never muddy." You have displayed great address in the above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much.

I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and be obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend for 'O wat ye wha's in yon town?'

No. LXXIV.

BURNS TO MR THOMSON.

May, 1795.

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.*

Tune-"Where'll bonnie Ann lie."

Or, "Loch-Eroch side."

O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing fond complaining.

The tune to which this address was written, Where will bonnie Annie lie?' is sweet; and happily allied to words simple and unaffected, particularly if we take into account the exalted personages who formed the hero and heroine of the song-viz. James, fifth duke, and Ann, duchess of Hamilton. It was written by Allan Ramsay on the eve of their marriage. The following are the two first stanzas:

HE.

"Where wad bonny Annie lie?
Alane nae mair ye maun lie;
Wad ye a goodman try?

Is that the thing ye're laking?

Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining,

SHE.

Can a lass sae young as I,
Venture on the bridal tie,

Syne down with a goodman lie?

I'm flee'd he keep me wauking."

A later version of the song runs as follows:

Where will bonnie Ann lie?
Where will bonnie Ann lie?
Where will bonnie Ann lie,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!

Where but in her true love's bed;
Arms of love around her spread;
Pillow'd on his breast her head,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!

There will bonnie Ann lie,
There will bonnie Ann lie,

There will bonnie Ann lie,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!

When the storm is raging high,
Calm she'll list it whistling bye!
While cozie in his arms she'll lie,
I' the cauld nights o' winter, O.

Where will bonnie Ann lie?
Where will bonnie Ann lie?

Where will bonnie Ann lie,

I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!

In the arms of wedded love,
Breathing thanks to Him above,

Whose care and goodness she does prove,
I' the cauld nights o' winter, O!

Б.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' wo could wauken.

Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!

Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this

song.

ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.

Tune-" Aye wakin, O."

Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.
Can I cease to care?

Can I cease to languish ?
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish?

Every hope is fled,

Every fear is terror;
Slumber even I dread,
Every dream is horror.
Long, long the night,

Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight
Is on her bed of sorrow.

Hear me, Pow'rs divine!
Oh, in pity hear me !
Take aught else of mine,

But my Chloris spare me!

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight,

Is on her bed of sorrow.

How do you like the foregoing? The Irish air, Humours of Glen,' is a great favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the 'Poor Soldier,' there are not any decent verses for it, I have written for it as follows:

CALEDONIA.

Tune-" Humours of Glen."

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume,
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen :
For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave;

Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,
What are they? The haunt of the tyrant and slave!
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,
The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

"TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE E'E.

Tune-" Laddie, lie near me."

'Twas na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing :

'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me!
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest !
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Let me hear from you.

No. LXXV.

MR THOMSON TO BURNS.

You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it.

The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs Burns finds you out among the figures.

I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark,' your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia,' and your affecting verses on 'Chloris's illness.' Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to 'Laddie, lie near me, though not equal to these, is very pleasing.