ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.

"I do not think "On the Seas and far away" one of your very happy productions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation.-Thomson to Burns

Tune.-O'er the Hills, &c.

How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my sailor lad?
How can I the thought forego,
He's on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my love;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are with him that's far away.

CHORUS.

On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day,
Are ay with him that's far away.
When in summer's noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in this scorching sun
My sailor's thund'ring at his gun :
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy

!

Fate do with me what you may,
Spare but him that's far away
On the seas, &c.

At the starless midnight hour,

When winter rules with boundless power;

As the storms the forest tear,

And thunders rend the howling air,
Listening to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
All I can-I weep and pray,
For his weal that's far away.
On the seas, &c.

Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild war his ravage end,
Man with brother man to meet,
And as a brother kindly greet:

Then may heaven with prosp'rous gales,
Fill my sailor's welcome sails,
To my arms their charge convey,

My dear lad that's far away.
On the seas, &c.

SAW YE MY PHELY?

Written for the Museum. The air must have been altered to suit the present verses, as the measure of the old song is very different-When she cam ben she bobbit fu' low.'

Tune.-When she cam ben she bobbit.

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely?
O saw ye my dear, my Phely?

She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love,
She winnak come hame to her Willy.

What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,
And for ever disowns thee her Willy.
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
O bad I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy.

LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. Duncan Gray was a favourite air of the Poet's. He had already written to it his admirable Scottish song, Duncan Gray cam here to woo.' The following is an attempt to dress it in English.

Tune.-Duncan Gray.

LET not woman e'er complain,
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain,
Fickle man is apt to rove:

Look abroad through Nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove
Mark the winds, and mark the skies:
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go.

Why then ask of silly man,
To oppose great Nature's plan?
We'll be constant while we can-

You can be no more, you know.

SLEEP'ST THOU, OR WAK'ST THOU, &c.
Written for Thomson's Collection. For some curious alterations
of this song, see Currie's edition, vol. iv. page 137.
Tune.-Deil tak the Wars.

SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature?
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilkam bud which Nature
Waters wi' the tears o' joy :

Now to the streaming fountain,

Or up the heathy mountain,

Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray;

The lintwhite" in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower;

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,

Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature gladdening and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When frae my Chloris parted,
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,

[sky:

Night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my

But when, in beauty's light,
She meets my ravish'd sight,
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart;

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.

MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN THE GROVES.

How do you like,' says Burns to Thomson, the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral!-I think it pretty well.'

Tune. My lodging is on the cold ground.

My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair:
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings:
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':m

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe, in the birken shaw."

The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?

The shepherd, in the flow'ry glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo;
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true?

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine:

The courtiers' gems may witness love-
But 'tis na love like mine.

in Hail.

n Small wood in a hollow. o Pulled, gathered.

IT WAS THE CHARMING MONTH OF MAY. Altered from an old English Song.

Tune. Dainty Davie.

It was the charming month of May,
When all the flow'rs were fresh and gay,
One morning by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe;
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

CHORUS.

Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,

The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather'd people you might see,
Perch'd all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody,

They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she, &c.

FAREWELL THOU STREAM, &c.

This song has nothing in common with the old verses→
Nancy's to the greenwood gane,

To gain her love by flattering.'

Tune.-Nancy's to the greenwood gane.

FAREWELL thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!

O mem'ry spare the cruel throes

Within my bosom swelling: