O THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. TUNE This is no my ain House. CHORUS. \O THIS is no my ain lassie, I see a form, I see a face, Ye weel may wi' the fairest place; She's bonny, blooming, straight, and tall, The kind love that's in her e'e. A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, To steal a blink, by a' unseen; sly 1 The reader will learn with surprise that the poet origi nally wrote this chorus O this is no my ain Body, Kind though the Body be, etc. ET. 37.] NOW SPRING HAS CLAD. But gleg as light are lovers' e'en, It may escape the courtly sparks, August, 1795. 187 quick NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN. Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strewed the lea wi' flowers; The furrowed, waving corn is seen Their sorrows to forego, O why thus all alone are mine The trout within yon wimpling burn Glides swift a silver dart winding brook And safe beneath the shady thorn My life was 'ance that careless stream, But love, wi' unrelenting beam, Has scorched my fountains dry. The little floweret's peaceful lot, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine; till love has o'er me past, And now beneath the withering blast The wakened laverock warbling springs, In morning's rosy eye. As little recked I sorrow's power, Until the flowery snare O' witching love, in luckless hour, O had my fate been Greenland snows, Or Afric's burning zone, Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! ET. 37.] O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. 189 The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair," What tongue his woes can tell! Within whase bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell! August, 1795. O BONNY WAS YON ROSY BRIER. "Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my Poems, presented to the lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of Chloris."- Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1795. O BONNY was yon rosy brier That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; And bonny she, and ah! how dear! It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. Yon rose-buds in the morning dew, They witnessed in their shade yestreen. All in its rude and prickly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair! But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's thorny path o' care. The pathless wild and wimpling burn, winding brook And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTREE, THE SEAT OF MR. HERON. Assigned by Dr. Currie to the summer of 1795. THOU of an independent mind, With soul resolved, with soul resigned; - Thy own reproach alone dost fear, |