song were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the "Gentle Jean," celebrated somewhere in Hamilton of Bangour's poems.-Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena.

The author of the song was William Wallace, Esq. of Cairnhill, in Ayr-shire.

["ALL lonely on the sultry beach,

Expiring Strephon lay,

No hand the cordial draught to reach,
Nor cheer the gloomy way.
Ill-fated youth! no parent nigh,
To catch thy fleeting breath,
No bride to fix thy swimming eye,
Or smooth the face of death!

Far distant from the mournful scene,
Thy parents sit at ease,
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain,

And all the spring, to please.
Ill-fated youth! by fault of friend,
Not force of foe, depress'd,
Thou fall'st, alas! thyself, thy kind,
Thy country, unredress'd!"]

Had the better by the brae,

Janet, Janet;

Had the better by the brae,

My jo, Janet.

Good Sir, for your courtesie,
Coming thro' Aberdeen then,
For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a pair of sheen then.
Clout the auld, the new are dear,
Janet, Janet;

A pair may gain ye ha'f a year,
My jo, Janet.

But what if dancing on the green,

An' skipping like a maukin, If they should see my clouted sheen, Of me they will be tauking. Dance ay laigh, and late at e'en, Janet, Janet;

Syne a' their fauts will no be seen,
My jo, Janet.

Kind Sir, for your courtesie,
When ye gae to the cross then,
For the love ye bear to me,

Buy me a pacing horse then.
Pace upo' your spinning wheel,
Janet, Janet;
Pace upo' your spinning wheel,
My jo, Janet.

My spinning wheel is auld and stiff,
The rock o't winna stand, Sir;
To keep the temper-pin in tiff,
Employs right aft my hand, Sir.
Make the best o' that ye can,
Janet, Janet;

But like it never wale a man,
My jo, Janet.]

Fife, and a' the Lands about it.

THIS song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well as I, often gave Johnson verses, trifling enough, perhaps, but they served as a vehicle to the music.

[The words are as follows:--

"ALLAN by his grief excited,

Long the victim of despair,
Thus deplor'd his passion slighted,
Thus address'd the scornful fair.
'Fife and all the lands about it,

Undesiring I can see;
Joy may crown my days without it,
Not, my charmer, without thee.

Must I then for ever languish,

Still complaining, still endure?
Can her form create an anguish,
Which her soul disdains to cure?
Who by hopeless passion fated,

Must I still those eyes admire,
Whilst unheeded, unregretted,
In her presence I expire ?

Would thy charms improve their pow'r?
Timely think, relentless maid;
Beauty is a short-liv'd flower,

Destin'd but to bloom and fade!
Let that Heav'n, whose kind impression
All thy lovely features shew,
Melt thy soul to soft compassion

For a suff'ring lover's woe.

[The air to which this song is written is very old: the old name is supposed to have been "Let Jamie's Lad alane."]

Were na my Heart light k wad die.

LORD Hailes, in the notes to his Collection of ancient Scots poems, says that this song was the composition of Lady Grisel Baillie, daughter of the first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George Baillie, of Jerviswood.

[There are few songs superior to this-the last verse has obtained a melancholy importance from being applied by Burns to his own condition, when he found himself neglected by his country, and descending to the grave.

"THERE was ance a May, and she lo'ed na men, She biggit her bonny bow'r down in yon glen; But now she cries dool! and a well-a-day! Come down the green gate, & come here away.

When bonny young Johnny came o'er the sea, He said he saw naithing sae lovely as me; He hecht me baith rings and mony braw things: And were na my heart light, I wad die.

He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me, Because I was twice as bonny as she; [mother, She rais'd such a pother 'twix'd him and his That were na my heart light, I wad die.

The day it was set, and the bridal to be, The wife took a dwam, and lay down to die; She main'd and she grain'd, out of dolour and Till he vow'd he never wad see me again. [pain,

His kin was for ane of a higher degree, Said, What had he to do with the like of me? Albeit I was bonny, I was na for Johnny: And were na my heart light, I wad die.

They said, I had neither cow nor caff, Nor dribbles of drink rins thro' the draff, Nor pickles of meal rins thro' the mill-e'e; And were na my heart light, I wad die.

His titty she was baith wylie and slee, She spy'd me as I came o'er the lee; And then she ran in and made a loud din, Believe your ain een, an ye trow na me.

His bonnet stood ance fu' round on his brow; His auld ane looks ay as weel as some's new; But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing, And casts dimself dowie upon the corn-bing.

And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes:
And now he gaes drooping about the dykes,
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his e'e,
And were na my heart light, I wad die.

Were I young for thee, as I ance hae been, We shou'd hae been galloping down on yon And linking it on the lily-white lee; [green, And wow gin I were but young for thee!"

ballad was written, was the daughter of Sir [Lady Grisel Home, by whom this pathetic Patrick Home, created Earl of Marchmont She was born at Redbraes Castle, 25th December, 1665, was married to George Baillie, of Jerviswood, Esq., 17th September, 1692, and died at London, 6th December, 1746, in the 81st year of her age. Their eldest daughter, Lady Murray, of Stanhope, wrote Memoirs of the lives and characters of her parents-a piece of biography of the most affectionate and interesting kind. It was first made known by extracts, in the Appendix to Rose's observations on Fox's Historical Work, 1809, and has since been printed entire by Thomas Thomson, Esq., Advocate, Edinburgh, 1822, 8vo.

What boots it then, in ev'ry clime,
Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze:
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke:
What foreign arms could never quell
By civil rage and rancour fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day :
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night:
No strains, but those of sorrow, flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe:
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.
Oh! baneful cause-oh! fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The sons against their father stood;
The parent shed his children's blood!
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's soul was not appeas'd;
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel.
The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend;
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breast shall beat;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow:
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn

Thy banish'd peace, thy laurel's torn !]

The tune of Gallashiels was composed about the beginning of the present century by the Laird of Gallashiels' piper.

[William Hamilton, of Bangour, was an amiable and accomplished gentleman, and one of our sweetest lyric poets. "His mind is pietured," says the author of the life of Lord Kames, "in his verses. They are the easy and careless effusions of an elegant fancy and a chastened taste; and the sentiments they convey are the genuine feelings of a tender and susceptible heart, which perpetually owned the domination of some fair mistress; but whose passion generally evaporated in song, and made no serious or permanent impression." Hamilton died in March, 1754, aged 50 years. The song which follows is one of his best; it was censured by Dr. Johnson for an ill-paired rhyme wishes and blushes-but harmony of rhyme is one thing, and true poetry another, and none knew this better than the critic.

"AH! the poor shepherd's mournful fate,

When doom'd to love and languish,
To bear the scornful fair one's hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish !
Yet eager looks and dying sighs,
My secret soul discover;
While rapture, trembling through mine eyes,
Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek,

O'erspread with rising blushes,

A thousand various ways they speak,

A thousand various wishes.

For oh! that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air,

So fatally beguiling!
The every look and every grace,

So charm whene'er I view thee;
"Till death o'ertake me in the chase,

Still will my hopes pursue thee:
Then when my tedious hours are past,
Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in sight of heaven."]

Mill, Mill O.—*

THE original, or at least a song evidently

Tune-Gallashiels.

THE old title, Sour Plums o' Gallashiels,

"As I cam down yon waterside,
And by yon shellin-hill, O,

There I spied a bonnie bonnie lass,
And a lass that I lov'd right weel, O.”—

air, which is now lost.

*["Burns's inimitable ballad "The Soldier's Return" is how infinitely superior are his verses!"-HOGG.]