The ["Bonnie Peggy Alison was Montgomery's Peggy, the subject of other songs, and the object of eight months' fruitless wooing. Poet, it is said, exhausted all his knowledge in the art of courting to win the affections of this coy dame; he was to be seen sauntering about, watching her windows during the evening, musing in her favourite walks during the day, and, when in some propitious moment she consented to meet him after night-fall, he might be observed lingering nigh the "trysting tree" an hour before the appointed time. He sought the acquaintance of all whom he imagined could influence her, and urged and wooed with all his impassioned eloquence. Peggie was pleased with all this -she loved praise, and loved the Poet's company. The cause of her coldness has already been related. It was an early communication, though unacknowledged, to the Museum. Clark the composer was fond of it; Cromek, who had all Johnson's correspondence through his hands, saw it in the hand-writing of Burns, and inserted it in the Reliques."-CUNNINGHAM.] Green grow the Rashes, O! A FRAGMENT. Tune- Green grow the Rashes. CHORUS. GREEN grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! "Green grow the Rashes, O, Green grow the Rashes, O; As a bed amang the rashes, O." We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; ["Burns calls this inimitable song a fragment, and says it speaks the genuine language of his heart. The incense in the concluding verse is the richest any poet ever offered at the shrine of beauty. The following passage of "Cupid's Whirlygig," published in 1607, contains the express sentiments of the poet of Scotland : "How have I wronged thee? Oh! who would abuse your sex who truly knows ye? O women, were we not born of you? Should we not, then, honour you? Nursed by you, and not regard you? Made for you, and not seek you? And since we were made before you, should we not love and admire you as the last, and, therefore, perfect work of nature? Man [The heroine of this sweet snatch was "Bonnie Jean." It was composed when the Poet contemplated the West India voyage, and an eternal separation from the land and all that was dear to him. It is written to the air of an English song of the same name: some of the verses of which are pleasing: "Come, take your glass, the Northern Lass I drank her health, and really was Her shape so neat, her voice so sweet, The syren charm'd me from my meat,— "If from the North such beauty came, Within my breast that glowing flame, Though cold and raw the north winds blow, Robin. Tune-Daintie Davie. I. THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,* Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin’; A district of Ayr-shire. II. Our monarch's hindmost year but ane III. The gossip keekit in his loof, Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, IV. He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', But aye a heart aboon them a'; He'll be a credit 'till us a', We'll a' be proud o' Robin. v. But, sure as three times three mak nine, This chap will dearly like our kin', VI. Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar, Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; [This mirthful song was an early composition. All who are acquainted with humble life in the north will see at once the truth and the force of the Poet's picture. A male child has been born -the gossips are gathered about the bed-and a cummer, skilful in palmistry, reads his fortune from his fist. She sees much of the dark, but more of the bright; and, as the gossip-cup has probably run to her head, she dilates with much freedom on his future exploits. Stothard painted a small picture from this clever ditty. The cannie wife stood with little Robin laid backwards in her left arm; with her right hand she had opened his palm, and it was quite evident that she saw something which tickled her a curious intelligence sparkled the faces of her gossips, and they said, or seemed to say "Blessin's on thee, Robin !" CUNNINGHAM.] Her Flowing Locks. Tune-(Unknown.) HER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to cling, And round that neck entwine her! Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, O, what a feast her bonnie mou'! Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, A crimson still diviner. The Belles of Mauchline. Tune-Bonnie Dundee. I. [The Poet one day had his foot in the stirrup ready to mount his horse, and return from Ayr to Mauchline, when a young lady of great beauty rode up to the inn, and caused some refreshments to be given to her servants. The Poet composed these beautiful lines at the moment, merely, he said, to keep so much loveliness on his memory, and on the same principle that a painter contents himself with a sketch, when he has not leisure for a finished picture. The fragment was found among his papers, and was first printed by Cromek.] They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill, The best of our lads, wi' the best o' their skill; * [Eliza long survived the Poet, and, if we may judge from the following obituary notice of her, she must have been a person somewhat above the common standard: "At Alva, on the 28th ult. [1827], in the 74th year of her age, Mrs. Elizabeth Black, relict of the late Mr. James Stewart, Vintner, there. Though early deprived of her partner, Mrs. Stewart, in her guarded walk and conversation, during the many years she spent in Alva, threw such a moral balo around her character as secured for her the unceasing esteem and good wishes of her fellow-villagers. She "Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, My friend John Galt informed me that this lady was his relative: he said her name was Elizabeth Barbour; she was handsome rather than beautiful, very lively and of ready wit. The Poet seems to have realized in his loves the fortune of the "wight of Homer's craft," in the "Jolly Beggars.' When change of mind, marriage, or other casualties, carried away one of his heroines, he could sing, with justice, "I've lost but ane, I've twa behin." Or, if not content with what remained, his youth and eloquence soon supplied the vacancy with a lass from Lugar, or from Cessnock-bank. When he made his appearance among the polished dames of Edinburgh, he found that the language which caused the maids to listen on the Ayr and Doon wrought the same enchantment elsewhere."-CUNNINGHAM.] The Sons of Old Killie. Tune-Shawnboy. I. YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another I've little to say, but only to pray, As praying's the ton of your fashion; A prayer from the muse you well may excuse, "Tis seldom her favourite passion, II. Ye powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide, [The original, in the Poet's handwriting, was Burns's "ELIZA." She was born and brought up in Ayr-shire, and in the bloom of youth was possessed of no ordinary share of personal charms. She early became acquainted with Burns, and made no small impression on his heart. She possessed several love-epistles he had addressed to her. It was when Scotia's bard intended emigrating from his own to a foreign shore, that he wrote the stanzas beginning "From thee, Eliza, I must go," |