On ilkan hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekitP cot;
The scented birk9 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 aikst the cushats" wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,*
Delighted, rival ither's lays :

The craiky amang the claverz hay,
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley,a
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,b
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,

O wha would leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel?

BONNIE JEAN.

The heroine of this ballad was Miss M. of Dumfries. She is not painted in the rank which she held in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager.

THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen,
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

n Every. o Rivulets.

↑ Cool. s Shade.

p Thatched.

t

u Doves.
y The landrail.
b Shed.

q Birch-tree.

w Linnets. z Clover.

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark,
And ay she sang sae merrilie ;
The blythest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigest nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst,"

He danced wi' Jeanie on the down:

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,

Her heart was tint," her peace was stown.

As in the bosom of the stream

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en,
So, trembling, pure, was tender love,
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.
And now she works her mammie's wark,
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
But did na Jeannie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her ee,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
Ae e'enin' on the lily lea?

The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to her's he fondly prest,
And whisper'd thus his tale of love:
'O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me?

Horses.

u Fair.

w Lost.

& Leap.

Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farm wi' me?

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me.'
Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.

THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME. This ballad is founded on an amour of Charles the Second, when sculking in the north, about Aberdeen, in the time of the usurpation. The lass that made the bed to him was a daughter of the house of Port Letham, where he was entertained. The old verses are greatly inferior to this improved version of the story.

WHEN Januar' wind was blawing cauld,

As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,"
I knew nae where to lodge till day.

By my good luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o' my care;
And kindly she did me invite

To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
And thank'd her for her courtesie;

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,

And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide,

Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;

She put the cup to her rosy lips,

And drank, Young man, now sleep ye soun'.

She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi' speed;