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Tell her, O Allan, tell!
Donald thus bravely fell;
And that in his last farewell
He thought on his Flora!

Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair!
Striking her bosom bare,

She sigh'd, Poor Flora!

Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day !—
Flora no more could say;

At length the sound died away
For ever in Mora!

Hector Macneill had some tenderness, but no pathos; and as pathos was wanted for this tale of woe, the song is a failure. What messenger ever came with so swift a foot and so tedious a tongue :—in three verses he tells what he might have said in three lines, and the silly sorrow of the lady is in keeping with the stupidity of the messenger:—

Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!
Flora no more could say.

I have omitted one verse, and more might be spared.

MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE.

Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue,
My only jo and dearie-o ;
Thy neck is like the siller dew,
Upon the banks sae brierie-o;-
Thy teeth are o' the ivorie,

O sweet's the twinkle o' thine e'e!
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,
My only jo and dearie-o.

The birdie sings upon the thorn
It's sang o' joy, fu' cheerie-o,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,

Nae care to make it eerie-o;
But little kens the sangster sweet
Aught o' the cares I hae to meet,
That gar my restless bosom beat,
My only jo and dearie-o.

Whan we were bairnies on yon brae, And youth was blinkin' bonnie-o, Aft we wad daff the lee-lang day

Our joys fu' sweet and monie-o: Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea, And round about the thorny tree, Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee, My only jo and dearie-o.

I hae a wish I canna tine,

'Mang a' the cares that grieve me-o;

I wish thou wert for ever mine,

And never mair to leave me-o:
Then I wad daut thee night and day,
Nor ither warldly care wad hae,

Till life's warm stream forgot to play,
My only jo and dearie-o.

I remember when this song was exceedingly popular : its sweetness and ease rather than its originality and vigour might be the cause of its success. The third verse contains a very beautiful picture of early attachment—a sunny bank and some sweet soft school-girl, will appear to many a fancy when these lines are sung. It was written by Richard Gall.

AE FOND KISS.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me ;—
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy :
But to see her, was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted!

Fare thee well, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee well, thou best and dearest !
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Burns wrote this moving song about the year 1790— Like Thomson he laments the cruelty of fortune: but there is more passion in his complaint; and he seems to have drunk deeply of joy before he parted with the cup. Of the heroine I cannot speak with certainty; but the poet I believe has named her right-the song is more creditable to her charms than to her good name.

AGAIN REJOICING NATURE SEES.

Again rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;

In vain to me, in glen or shaw,

The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks,
But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,
And owre the moorland whistles shill,
Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step,

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide.

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