The country Lassie.

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I'll pu'the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o’her sweet bonnie mou’; The hyacinth for constancy,wi'its unchanging blue

An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, an' the lily it is fair,
An' in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity an' unaffected air-

An' a' to be a posie to my ain kind May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o'siller gray, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of day; But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak’

away An' a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

THE COUNTRY LASSIE.

TUNE-"The country lassie.”
In simmer, when the hay was mawn,

An' corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,

An' roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blithe Bessie, in the milking shiel,

Says—“I'll be wed, come o’t what will.”
Out spak'a dame in wrinkled eild-

“ O'gude advisement comes nae ill.

“It's ye ha'e wooers mony ane,

An', lassie, ye’re but young, ye ken; Then wait a wee, an' cannie wale

A routhie but, a routhie ben: There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen,

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; Tak’ this frae me, my bonnie hen,

It's plenty beets the luver's fire.”

“For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen:

I dinna care a single flee;
He lo’es sae weel his craps an’ kye,

He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e,

An', weel I wat, he lo’es me dear: Ae blink o' him I wad na gi'e

For Buskie-glen an'a' his gear.”

“O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;

The canniest gate, the strife is sair; But aye

fu’ han't is fechtin' best, An' hungry care's an unco care; But some will spend an' some will spare,

An' wilfu’ folk maun ha’e their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.”

“Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

' An'

gear will buy me sheep an’ kye;

The smiling Spring.

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But the tender heart o' leesome luve

The gowd an' siller canna buy; We may be poor-Robie an' I,

Light is the burden luve lays on; Content an' luve bring peace an' joy

What mair ha’e queens upon a throne ?"

THE SMILING SPRING.

Tune-“Bonnie Bell.”

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing,

An' surly winter grimly flies;
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,

An' bonnie blue are the sunny skies.
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,

The ev'ning gilds the ocean swell; All creatures joy in the sun's returning,

An' I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery spring leads sunny summer,

An' yellow autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy winter,

Till smiling spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,

Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging,

I adore my bonnie Bell.

K

BLOOMING NELLY.

TUNE—“On a bank of flowers."

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,

With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,

Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,

And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes,

like

weapons sheath'd
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lips, still as she fragrant breath’d,

It richer dy'd the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wildl, wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;
He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd--

His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light waving in the breeze,

Her tender limbs embrace; Her lovely form, her native ease,

All harmony and grace : Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;

The Day returns.

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He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,

And sigh'd his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake,

On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly, starting, half-awake,

Away affrighted springs;
But Willie follow'd, as he should,

He overtook her in the wood;
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid

Forgiving all and good.

TUNE—"The seventh of November.” [“I composed this song out of compliment to one of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the world, Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together.”—Burns.]

The day returns, my bosom burns,

The blissful day we twa did meet, Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,

An' crosses o’er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns an' globes,

Heav'n gave me more- e-it made thee mine!