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The stanza with which this song, inserted by Messrs Brash and Reid, begins, is the chorus of the old song under this title; and though perfectly suitable to that wicked but witty ballad, it has no accordance with the strain of delicate and tender sentiment of this improved song. In regard to the five other additional stanzas, though they are in the spirit of the two stanzas that are unquestionably our bard's, yet every reader of discernment will see they are by an inferior hand; and the real author of them, ought neither to have given them, nor suffered them to be given, to the world, as the production of Burns. If there were no other mark of their spurious origin, the latter half of the third line in the seventh stanza, our hearts were ne'er our foe, would be proof sufficient. Many are the instances in which our bard has adopted defective rhymes, but a single instance cannot be produced, in which, to preserve the rhyme, he has given a feeble thought, in false grammar. These additional stanzas are not however without merit, and they may serve to prolong the plea. sure which every person of taste must feel, from listeningto a most happy union of beautiful music with moral

sentiments that are singularly interesting.

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL.

O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty,
And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie,

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;

It's a' for the hinney he'll cherish the bee, My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hae luve to spare for me.

Your proffer o' luve's an arle penny,
My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin,

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree,
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.

THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN.

GANE is the day and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon, And bluid red wine's the risin sun.

Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawin,

Then guidwife count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair.

There's wealth an' ease for gentlemen,
And semple-folk maun fecht and fen;
But here we're a' in ae accord,
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.
Then guidwife count, &c.

My coggie is a haly pool,
That heals the wounds o' care and dool;
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out.
Then guidwife count, &c.

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He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers;

I never can please him, do a' that I can; He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows,

O, dool on the day, I met wi' an auld man!

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan;
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart
break him,

And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

THE BONNIE WEE THING.

BONNIE wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely wee thing, was thou mine; I wad wear thee in my bosom,

Lest my jewel I should tine.

Wistfully I look and languish,

In that bonnie face of thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine';
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee, &c.

O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY TAM.

Tune "The Moudie wort."

An' O, for ane and twenty, Tam!

An' hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam! I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam.

THEY snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam;
But three short years will soon wheel roun',
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam.
An' O, for ane, &c.

A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam;
At kith or kin I need na spier,
An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
An' O, for ane, &c.

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I mysel hae plenty, Tam;
Bur hear'st thou laddie, there's my loof,
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
An' O, for ane, &c.

BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL,

O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae 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.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below thy 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, blythe I turn my spinning wheel.

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

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 flairing, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel,
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel.

COUNTRY LASSIE.

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;
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,

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

Its ye hae wooers mony a ane,
And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben:
There's Johnie 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.

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He bas nae luve to spare for me:

But blythe'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.

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

A hungry care's an unco care:

But some will spend, and some will spare,
And wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

O gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear 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 love brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne?

FAIR ELIZA.

A GAELIC AIR.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part,
Rew 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 !
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.

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mou ;

The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue:

And a to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air:
And a to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey,

Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day;

But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away:

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

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening 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.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,

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 remuve,

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

THE BANKS O' DOON.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve,

And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause lover stole my rose, But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

WILLIE WASILE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster gude,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,

O Tinkler Madgie was her mither;

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.

She has an e'e, she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeta, forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin beard ahout her mou,

Her nose and chin they threaten ither; Sic a wife, &c.

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein shinn'd,

Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,

The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife, &c.

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

And wi' her loof her face a-washin; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-water;

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.

EVAN BANKS.

SLOW Spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires;
To Evan banks, with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth, it leads the day.
Oh! banks to me for ever dear!
Oh! stream whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside,
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my piercing sigh,
And long pursu'd me with her eye!
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde.

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound!
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to mem'ry brings,
All that on Evan's border springs?
Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:
Blest stream, she views thee haste to Clyde.

Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost?
Return, ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!
Nor more may aught my steps divide

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde.

GLOOMY DECEMBER.

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair. Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever,

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure.

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,
'Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown,
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone;
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou makes me remember,

Parting wi' Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE.

WILT thou be my dearie;

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee;

By the treasure of my soul,
And that's the love I bear thee:
I swear and vow, that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie.

Only thou I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my dearie.

Lassie, say thou lo'es me:

Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, Sae na thou'lt refuse me :

If it winna, canna be, Thou, for thine, may choose me : Let me, lassie, quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me, Lassie, let me quickly die, Trusting that thou lo'es me.

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BONNIE BELL.

THE Smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies;

Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the
morning,

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowry Spring leads sunny Summer,
And yellow Autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,
'Till smiling Spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging
I adore my bonnie Bell.

AFTON WATER.

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with courses of clear winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow:

There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,

THE GALLANT WEAVER.

WHERE Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And give it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.*

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE.

me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her

dream.

LOUIS, what reck I by thee,

Or Geordie on his ocean;

Dyvor beggar louns to me,
I reign in Jeanie's bosom,

Let her crown my love her law,

And in her breast enthrone me:

Kings and nations, swith awa!
Reif randies I disown ye!

* In some editions sailor is substituted for weaver,

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