IV.

I

["It is difficult to determine whether to ascribe this song wholly to Burns, or to give to his pen only the second and third stanzas. That it is partly old I never heard doubted; and that it refers to the fortunes of the gallant Gordons of Kenmure, in the fatal "Fifteen," is quite evident. The Viscount left Galloway with two hundred horsemen well armed; he joined the other lowland Jacobites-penetrated I to Preston-repulsed, and at last yielded to, the attack of General Carpenter-and perished on the scaffold. He was a good as well as a brave man, and his fate was deeply lamented. The title has since been restored to the "Gordon's line." Burns, as may be seen in his correspondence, was, once at least, an invited guest at Kenmure."-CUNNINGHAM.]

My Collier Laddie.

Tune The Collier Laddie.

I.

O WHARE live ye, my bonnie lass? An' tell me what they ca' ye?

Burns says, "I do not know a blither old song than this." When Burns sent this song to the Museum, he sent it as an old song,-some few words altered by himself: in proof of which we here give the original:

I hae been east, I hae been west,
And I've been at Kirkaldie;
But the bonniest lass that e'er I saw
Was following a collier laddie.

Wi' siller slippers on her feet,
Her body neat and handsome,
And sky blue ribbons on her head,
Where gowd aboon was glancin.
Whaur are ye gaun, my bonnie lass?
Come tell me how they ca' thee;
My name it's Jane, the maid replied,
I'm following my collier laddie.
O would ye fancy ane that's black,
And you sae fair and gawdie?
O fancy ane o' higher degree
Than follow a collier laddie.

I'll gie you ha's, I'll gie you bowers,
I'll gie you gowd rings gawdie,
I'll gie you gowd laid up in store,
To leave your collier laddie.

I

And the earth conceals sae lowly; wad turn my back on you and it a', And embrace my Collier Laddie. wad turn my back on you and it a', And embrace my Collier Laddie.

V.

VI.

I value not your ha's and bowers,
Nor yet your gowd rings gawdie;
Nor a' the gowd ye hae in store,—
I'll keep my collier laddie.

I wantna ha's, I wantna bowers,
I wantna gowd rings gawdie;
I'll make my bed in's kitchen nook,
And lie wi' my collier laddie.
Then he's gane to her father dear,
To her father sae gawdie;
Says, will ye gie me your bonny lass
That's following the collier laddie?

O would she marry a man that's black,
And me sae braw and gawdie?
I'd raise her up to a higher degree
Than following a collier laddie.
Her father dear then vow'd and sware,
Tho' he be black, he's bonny;
She's mair delight in him, I fear,
Than you, wi' a' your money.
When seven years were come and gane,
And seven years se gawdie,

The gentleman came riding by,
To see Jane's collier laddie.

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame.

I.

THE noble Maxwells and the powers,

Are coming o'er the border, And they'll gae big Terreagle's towers, An' set them a' in order. And they declare Terreagle's fair,

For their abode they chuse it; There's no a heart in a' the land But's lighter at the news o't.

II.

Tho' stars in skies may disappear,
And angry tempests gather;
The happy hour may soon be near
That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief
May hae a joyfu' morrow;
So dawning day has brought relief-
Fareweel our night o' sorrow!

[The Maxwells were once the most powerful family in all the south of Scotland. The family rose on the fall of the great house of Douglas : a feud with the Annandale Johnstons cost them three earls: the wars of Charles and his Parliament were very injurious the rebellion of 1786 deprived them of the title-and the truly noble name is no longer numbered with our nobility. Terreagles-house stands at the foot of a fine range of green and lofty hills: it was built in the days of the Poet, and to this the song alludes. The music was by Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel.]

Lines on a merry Ploughman.

As I was a wand'ring de morning in spring,
I heard a merry ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin' thae words he did say,
There's nae life like the Ploughman in the
month o' sweet May.—

O hae ye money to lend, fair maid?
Hae ye money sae gawdie?

For gin I e'er come this road again,
I'll pay your collier laddie.

Where are your ha's?-where are your bowers
Where are your rings sae gawdie?

Where's a' the gowd ye promis'd me,

To forsake my collier laddie?

I wantna ha's, I wantna bowers,

I wantna rings sae gawdie;

I wantna gowd and money to lend,

Still kept my collier laddie.

Now she is to her father gane,

To her father dear sae gawdie,
Says, the thing ye promis'd me langsyne,
Gie't to my collier laddie.

Then he tauld down ten thousand crowns,
Ten thousand crowns sae gawdie,
Says, take ye that, my daughter Jane,
Enjoy your collier laddie.

The heroine of this song was Jane Cochrane, daughter to the laird of Bohill, near Kelso; and the hero of the piece was Mr. Presley, proprietor of a very extensive coal work in that neighbourhood. The song is very old. Another ballad called the "Collier's Bonny Lassie," may be found in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany.]

* [It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy which show the sons of genius to be of one kindred. In the following passage from the poem of his countryman, the same figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity; and never were the tender and the sublime of poetry more happily united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the memory of Burns:

III.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win ;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow

Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him,

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain; I'll flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

[The air to which these affecting words were written is good old Highland, and the title means, "My love did deceive me." It was found by Burns during his last northern tour, and found-as all Gaelic melodies are-accompanied by verse. The original was rendered into English by an Inverness-shire lady, and from her version he composed these stanzas. They were printed in the fourth volume of the Musical Museum.]

Bess and her Spinning-Wheel.

Tune-The sweet Lass that lo'es me.

I.

O LEEZE me on my spinning-wheel,
And leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tac that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en !
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal—
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

II.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.

III.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

IV.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?

["The melody to which Burns composed those verses was written by Oswald. The theme is a favourite one with the Poet-virtue and thrift. The heroine rejoices in her rustic independence; her wheel and reel are her truest friends, and clothe her and fill her cottage with comforts. Nor is she insensible to rural loveliness; her house stands among trotting streams; and birds sing and cushats wail on the bushes and trees around her. Machinery has stopt the spinningwheel, and taken the distaff from the bosoms of our lasses; on the rivulet side, now, no white-armed girls sing as they lave water on yarn of their own making—a shining and glossy grey,

'Which glanc'd in a' our lads' een.'

as they walked kirk-ward."-CUNNINGHAM.]

V.

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—
And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

VI.

The woodbine I will pu',

When the ev❜ning star is near, And the diamond draps o' dew

Shall be her een sae clear; The violet's for modesty,

Which weel she fa's to wear

And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

[Similar sentiments to those of Burns inspired Meleager in his "Heliodora's Garland," thus translated by Professor Wilson:

"I'll twine white violets, with soft myrtles too,
Narcissus twine, hyacinth of purple hue,
Twine with sweet crocus, laughing lilies twine
With roses, that to lovers hopeful shine;

So that on Heliodora's perfumed head

A wreath her beauteous ringlets may flower-spread."

"The feeling of the Greek lines," says Wilson, "is tender, and the expression perfect; but we cannot say more of the feeling than that it is a natural tenderness, inspired by the mingled breath of Heliodora and her garland. The tenderness is mixed, too, it may be said, with pride and homage. Meleager does the thing gracefully; we see his figure in an imposing posture, as he fixes the wreath on her head. But compare the courtier with the peasant-Meleager with Burns. By the banks of every stream in Coila hath bold bright Bobby walked, with his arm round some sweetheart's waist, and helped her to pull the primrose or the hawthorn,

In many a secret place,

Where rivulets danc'd their wayward round,
And beauty, born of murmuring sound,
Did pass into her face.'

"The Scot surpasses the Greek in poetry as well as passion -his tenderness is more heartfelt-his expression is even more exquisite; for the most consummate art, even when guided by genius, cannot refine and burnish, by repeated polishing, the best selected words, up to the breathing beauty that, warm from the fount of inspiration, sometimes colours the pure language of nature.

"Lady! we appeal to thee-while we place THE POSIE on thy bosom.

"Ia one of Mr. Merivale's notes-always so agreeableallusion is made to Dr. Aikin's Essay on the application of Natural History to Poetry'-where he censures Pope for having in his Pastorals represented two flowers as blowing at the same time, when some months in reality intervene between the periods of their flowering;

'Here, the bright crocus and the violet grow;
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.'

We have never seen the Doctor's Essay, but do not doubt the excellence of his prescription. Every flowery versifier,' he says, has materials at hand for a lover's bower; but a botanist alone could have culled and sorted the plants which compose the Bower of Eve.' Poo-poo poo. Milton was no botanist. Poets of course observe all natural phenomena; when they wish to be accurate they generally are so; and ignorance is unpardonable on all occasions where they profess to write according to knowledge. But feeling often forgets facts. Meleager gathers flowers for his Heliodora that are all naturally in blossom together, and it is well; but Burns pu'd a posie for his own dear May, in despite of the Seasons and Dr. Aikin. He was as good a botanist as Milton--that is, no botanist at all-but he knew every month by its flower.

VII.

I'll tie the posie round,

Wi' the silken band of love, And I'll place it in her breast,

And I'll swear, by a' above, That to my latest draught o' life

The band shall ne'er removeAnd this will be a posie To my ain dear May.*

Countrie Lassie.

Tune-The Country Lass.

I.

IN simmer, when the hay was mawn, And corn wav'd green in ilka field, While claver blooms white o'er the lea, And roses blaw in ilka bield;

Nevertheless, his own dear May, more magical than even the month of that name, to his eyes covered the earth at once with all the flowers of the year. As all the innocences were alive in her, so to his imagination were all their emblems in nature. The primrose-the firstling of the year--as he most tenderly calls it-the pink, which comes long after-the rose, which in Scotland at least is 'newly born in June'-the hawthorn, seldom siller grey' before July-and the violet earlier far than the lily-though Heaven forbid the lily should be wanting-all are pu'd by the ploughman for one Posie, that in its profusion and confusion of balm and bloom, shall faintly but faithfully image his own dear May. Enough that both she and they were innocent and beautiful in the breath of Heaven. Nor is that all. He mingles the hours of the day as well as the seasons of the year."

'I'll pu' the budding rose when Phoebus peeps in view’—

an image of the dewy dawn; but from morn to dewy eve is simplest and easiest chronology, he declares, but a moment in 'love's young dream,' and, forgetful of the

་

"The woodbine I will pu' when the evening star is near !' We could expatiate for an hour on this Posie; but the hint we have dropped is sufficient to settle Dr. Aikin."

Another version of this beautiful lyric appeared above thirty years ago, set to music, and was afterwards printed in the Harp of Caledonia; it exhibits many variations, and was no doubt the poet's first draught. It is here subjoined :—

O luve will venture in whar it daurna well be seen;
O luve will venture in whar wisdom ance has been;
But I will down yon river rove, amang the leaves sae green,
And a' to pu' a posie for my ain dear Jean.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
I'll join the scented birk to the breathing eglantine,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
The morning's fragrance breathing like her sweet bonnie mou;
The hyacinth, of constancy the symbol shall be seen,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean.

I'll pu' the lily pure, that adorns the dewy vale,
The richly blooming hawthorn, that scents the vernal gaie,
The daisy for simplicity, and unaffected mien,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
Gemm'd wi' diamond drops o' dew, like her twa e'en sae clear,
The violet all modesty, the odour-breathing bean,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear Jean.

I'll tie the posie round with the silken band o' luve,
And I'll place it in her bosom, and I'll pray the powers above
That to our latest breath o' life the band may aye remain,
And this will be a posie to my ain dear Jean.]

Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says I'll be wed, come o't what will; Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild— O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

II.

It's ye hae wooers mony ane,
And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and 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.

III.

For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.

IV.

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair :
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best,

An hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

V.

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

gear

And will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome luve,
The gowd and siller canna buy ;
We may be poor-Robie and I,

Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content and luve bring peace and joy-
What mair hae queens upon a throne?

["In the present song, a dame of wrinkled eild takes upon her the duty of monitress, and

it cannot be said that she fails to make out a capital case in favour of a prudent match; she asserts, with the wooer in Allan Ramsay,

"There's mickle true love in bands and bags,

And gowd an' siller's a sweet complexion." The Poet has made a liberal use of proverb lore; the fourth verse consists wholly of warning saws and antique sayings; the grey dame who uses them makes happiness of the household of Mammon. In former times, before money was plentiful, it is said that a wooer waded the Nith to the Isle beside Ellisland, and made an offer for the hand of a farmer's daughter the young woman received his addresses with a sort of sarcastic coldness; her father approached, and rounded in her ear, Look at him twice, Jenny; look at him twice--he's weel ar

rayed-he has twa tap-coats and a plaid on !" CUNNINGHAM.]

Fair Eliza.

A Gaelic Air.

I.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,
Ae kind blink before we part,
Rue on thy despairing lover!
Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;
If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise!

II.

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe;
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,

Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

III.

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sunny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet, in the moment

Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me.

["The original title of this song was 'Fair Rabina: the heroine was a young lady to whom one of the Poet's friends was attached, and Burns wrote it in compliment to his passion. Johnson, the proprietor of the Museum, disliked the name, and, desiring to have one more suitable for singing, the Poet unwillingly changed it to Eliza. Burns thought very well of the composition, and said he had tasked his muse to the top of her performing. It is to be regretted that this change took place: it was something of a fraud, for it robbed the fair Rabina of an honour of which any one might be justly covet ous, and bestowed it upon a shadowy dame of the fancy."-CUNNINGHAM.]