man in his boat, have written or composed songs; and even the tramps and vagrants have been known in our days, as well as in those of Allan Ramsay and Robert Burns, to have been the authors of no contemptible emendations and new readings of the old ballads, as well as of original snatches of poetry adapted to the old tunes. The cities of Edinburgh and of Glasgow alone have produced within the last dozen years as many good Scottish songs as would fill three or four such volumes as that we now offer to the public, and the greater portion of which have been collected and published under the title of "Whistle Binkie." A few of the compositions of the late Alexander Rodger and Donald Carrick, the most distinguished contributors to that volume, will be found in our pages,-which, by the kind permission of the publisher, might have included many more, had not the limited space at our command imperatively forced us to exclude the multitude of living writers that would have had as much title to appear as any one whom we might have selected. "For," to use the words of Burns,

15

O LUSTY May, with Flora queen,

Whose balmy drops from Phoebus sheene

Prelucent beam before the day;

By thee Diana groweth green,

Through gladness of this lusty May.

Then Aurora that is so bright,

To woful hearts she casts great light
Right pleasantly before the day,
And show and sheds forth of that light,
Through gladness of this lusty May.

Birds on their boughs of every sort
Send forth their notes, and make great mirth
On banks that bloom and every brae,
And fare and flee ower every firth,

Through gladness of this lusty May.
b

And lovers all that are in care,
To their ladies they do repair

In fresh mornings before the day,
And are in mirth aye mair and mair,
Through gladness of this lusty May.
Of every moneth in the year
To mirthful May there is no peer,

Her glittering garments are so gay:
You lovers all, make merry cheer,
Through gladness of this lusty May.

I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.

MARQUIS OF MONTROSE, born 1612, died May 21, 1650.

My dear and only love, I pray

That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway
But purest monarchy ;
For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhor,
I'll call a synod in my heart,

And never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;

My thoughts did evermore disdain

A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.

But I will reign and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe :
But 'gainst my batteries if I find
Thou storm or vex me sore,
As if thou set me as a blind,

I'll never love thee more.

And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part,

Or dare to share with me;
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,

I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
As ne'er was known before;

I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee evermore.

WERE NA MY HEART LICHT, I WAD DEE.

LADY GRIZZEL BAILLIE, born 1665, died 1746. From the "Orpheus Caledonius," 1725.

THERE was anes a may, and she loo'd na men;
She biggit her bonnie bower doun i' yon glen;
But now she cries dool and well-a-day!
Come doun the green gate, and come here away.

When bonnie young Jamie cam' ower the sea,
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me ;
He hecht me baith rings an' mony braw things;
And were na my heart licht, I wad dee.

He had a wee titty that lo’ed na me,
Because I was twice as bonny as she;

She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his mother,
That were na my heart licht, I wad dee.

The day it was set and the bridal to be;

The wife took a dwam and lay down to dee;
She main❜d and she grain'd out o' dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again.

His kin was for ane of a high degree,
Said, What had he to do wi' the like o' me?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie;
And were na my heart licht, I wad dee.

They said I had neither cow nor calf,
Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff,
Nor pickles o' meal rins through the mill-ee;
And were na my heart licht, I wad dee.

His titty she was baith wylie an' slee,
She spied me as I cam ower the lea;
An' then she ran in an' made a loud din ;
Believe your ain ee an' ye trow na me.

His bonnet stood aye fou round on his brow,
His auld ane look'd aye as well as some's new;
But now he lets't wear ony gate it will hing,
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing.

And now he gaes daundrin' about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes;
The live-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his ee;
And were na my heart licht, I wad dee.

Were I young for thee, as I hae been,

We should ha' been gallopin' down on yon green, And linkin' it on yon lily-white lea;

And wow! gin I were but young for thee!