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The smiling Spring.

But the tender heart o' leesome luve
The gowd an' siller canna buy;
We may be poor-Robie an' I,

Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content an' luve bring peace an' joy-
What mair ha'e queens upon a throne?"

133

THE SMILING SPRING.

TUNE-" Bonnie Bell."

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing,
An' surly winter grimly flies;

Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
An' bonnie blue are the sunny skies.

Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The ev'ning gilds the ocean swell;
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
An' I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.

The flowery spring leads sunny summer,
An' 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.

K

BLOOMING NELLY.

TUNE-"On a bank of flowers."

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;

When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;

Her lips, still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dy'd the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild, wanton, kiss'd her rival breast;

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd—

His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light waving in the breeze,

Her tender limbs embrace;

Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace:
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole ;

The Day returns.

He gaz'd, he wish'd, he fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake,

On fear-inspired wings,

So Nelly, starting, half-awake,

Away affrighted springs;

But Willie follow'd, as he should,

He overtook her in the wood;

He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.

135

THE DAY RETURNS.

TUNE-"The seventh of November."

["I composed this song out of compliment to one of the happiest and worthiest married couples in the world, Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, and his lady. At their fireside I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together."-Burns.]

THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,

An' crosses o'er the sultry line;

Than kingly robes, than crowns an' globes,

Heav'n gave me more-it made thee mine!

While day an' night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, an' thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart!

THE BANKS OF THE DEVON.

TUNE-"Bhannerach dhon na chri."

["These verses were composed on a charming girl, a Miss Charlotte Hamilton, who is now married to James M'Kitrick Adair, Esq., physician. She is sister of my worthy friend, Gavin Hamilton, of Mauchline, and was born on the banks of Ayr, but was, at the time I wrote these lines, residing at Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, on the romantic banks of the little river Devon.”—Burns.]

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon, With green spreading bushes and flowers bloom

ing fair!

But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower

That steals on the ev'ning each leaf to renew.

The lazy Mist.

Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn: And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes

137

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn! Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded Lilies,

And England, triumphant, display her proud Rose;

A fairer than either adorns the green valleys, Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

THE LAZY MIST.

TUNE-"No churchman am I, for to rail or to write."

THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year.
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,

How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues!

How long I have liv'd-but how much liv'd in vain!
How little of life's scanty span may remain !
What aspects old Time in his progress has worn!
What ties cruel fate in my bosom has torn !

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