Tell her, O Allan, tell! Mute stood the trembling fair, She sigh'd, Poor Flora! Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day !— At length the sound died away 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! I have omitted one verse, and more might be spared. MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE. Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue, O sweet's the twinkle o' thine e'e! The birdie sings upon the thorn Nae care to make it eerie-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: Till life's warm stream forgot to play, 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; Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Fare thee well, thou first and fairest ! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 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, In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry ploughboy cheers his team, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, |