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THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.

The scenery of this song was taken from real life. Burns had roved out as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of his Muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year. In a corner of his prospect he spied one of the loveliest creatures that ever crowned a poetical landscape, or met a poet's eye. On his return home he composed the following verses in honour of her charms.

Tune.-Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff.

'Twas even-the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean
And bore its fragrant sweets alang :
In every glen the mavis sang,

All nature listening seem'd the while,
Except where green-wood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy;
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile;
Perfection whisper'd, passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild,
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wandering in a lonely wild:
But woman, nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile ;
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd
By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
Oh, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose in Scotland's plain!

Thro' weary winter's wind and rain
With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward seek the Indian mine:
Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks or till the soil,
And every day have joys divine,

With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE.

This song was written on the occasion of Sir John Whitefoord leaving Ballochmyle. The Maria mentioned in the first stanza was the eldest daughter of that gentleman.

Tune.-Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff.
THE Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee,
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken'd on the ee.
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while,
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle!

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair.
Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air:
But here, alas! for me nae mair

Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile;
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr,

Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle!

BONNIE LESLIE.

This song was composed on a charming Ayrshire girl, as she passed through Dumfries to England.

Tune. The collier's bonnie dochter.

O SAW ye bonnie Leslie

As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither.

Thou art a queen, fair Leslie,
Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Leslie,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaitha thee,

Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,
And say, I canna wrang thee.'
The Powers aboonb will tent thee;
Misfortune sha'na steerd thee;
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
Return again, fair Leslie !

Return to Caledonia!

That we may brag, we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.

ON A BANK OF FLOWERS, &c Written for the Museum' to the beautiful old melody The lady of the flowery field,' included in Ritson's Desiderata in Scottish Song,' since published in the Scots Magazine for Jan. 1802.

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,

For summer lightly drest,

a Injure.

b Above.

c Tend, guard.

J Molest

The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest:

When Willie, wand'ring through 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,
They 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 ;
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.

THE BANKS OF CREE.

The air of this song was composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of
Heron. The Cree is a beautiful romantic stream in Galloway.
HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchin shade;
The village-bell has told the hour-
O what can stay my lovely maid?
'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.
It is Maria's voice I hear!

So calls the wood-lark in the grove,
His little faithful mate to cheer,

At once 'tis music-and 'tis love!
And art thou come? and art thou true?
O welcome, dear, to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree.

YOUNG PEGGY.

This is one of the Poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from a MS. book which he had before his first publication.-Cromek. Tune.-The last time I came owre the moor.

YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
Her blush is like the morning,

The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With pearly gems adorning.
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
Her lips more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them.

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