THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL.

ON Richmond Hill there lives a lass
More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids surpass,
A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet,
Has won my right good-will;
I'd crowns resign to call her mine,
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
And wanton through the grove,
O, whisper to my charming fair,
I die for her I love.

How happy will the shepherd be

Who calls this nymph his own! O, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone.

JAMES UPTON.

By dae ar night, the best ov all, To zee my Fanny's smilén fiace; An' dere the stiately trees da grow, A-rockén as the win' da blow, While she da sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o' the night. An' dere at evemen I da goo,

A-hoppén auver ghiates an' bars, By twinklen light o' winter stars, When snow da clumper to my shoe; An' zometimes we da slyly catch A chat, an hour upon the stratch, An' piart wi' whispers at the hatch, In the stillness o' the night.

An' zometimes she da goo to zome

Young nâighbours' housen down the pliace,
An' I da get a clue to triace
Her out, an' goo to zee her huome

An' I da wish a vield a mile,
As she da sweetly chat an' smile
Along the drove, or at the stile,
In the stillness o' the night.

WILLIAM BARNES.

MARY MORISON.

O MARY, at thy window be !

It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see

That make the miser's treasure poor :
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw :
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;

A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

ROBERT BURNS.

IN THE STILLNESS O' THE NIGHT.

DORSET DIALECT.

Ov all the housen o' the pliace

Ther 's oone wher I da like to call,

O MISTRESS MINE.

O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, -

Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 't is not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

SHAKESPEARE

THE LOW-BACKED CAR.

WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,

'T was on a market day :

A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl, I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar
Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his owld poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.

My master carries me to church,
And often am I blaméd
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named:

I leave the church in sermon-time,
And slink away to Sally,

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
O, then I shall have money!
I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,

I'll give it to my honey;

O, would it were ten thousand pound!
I'd give it all to Sally;

For she 's the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

where it will,

Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still.

Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up,

Her chin is very neat and pert, and smooth like a china cup;

Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine,

-

in a twine.

seen, O, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been!

all before;

sae green:

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

And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer:

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

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie 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 gray,
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day;

take 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;

And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right.

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 remove :

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

MARY LEE.

I HAVE traced the valleys fair In May morning's dewy air,

My bonny Mary Lee!

ROBERT BURNS.

Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear,
Gathered all for thee?

They are not flowers of Pride,
For they graced the dingle-side;
Yet they grew in Heaven's smile,
My gentle Mary Lee!

Can they fear thy frowns the while
Though offered by me?

Here's the lily of the vale,
That perfumed the morning gale,
My fairy Mary Lee!

All so spotless and so pale,
Like thine own purity.
And might I make it known,

"T is an emblem of my own

Love, if I dare so name

My esteem for thee.

Surely flowers can bear no blame,

My bonny Mary Lee.

Here's the violet's modest blue,

That 'neath hawthorns hides from view,

My gentle Mary Lee,
Would show whose heart is true,

While it thinks of thee.
While they choose each lowly spot,
The sun disdains them not;
I'm as lowly too, indeed,

My charming Mary Lee;

So I've brought the flowers to plead,
And win a smile from thee.
Here's a wild rose just in bud;
Spring's beauty in its hood,

My bonny Mary Lee!
"T is the first in all the wood
I could find for thee.
Though a blush is scarcely seen,
Yet it hides its worth within,
Like my love; for I've no power,
My angel Mary Lee,

To speak unless the flower

Can make excuse for me.

LOVE IS A SICKNESS.

LOVE is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing ;

A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies ;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries
Heigh-ho!

Love is a torment of the mind,

A tempest everlasting;

And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full, nor fasting.
Why so?

More we enjoy it, more it dies ;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries
Heigh-ho!

SAMUEL DANIEL.

AH! WHAT IS LOVE?

AH! what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And sweeter too;

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest face to frown:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,

And merrier too;

For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:
Ah then, ah then,

If country love such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat
His cream and curd as doth the king his meat,
And blither too;

For kings have often fears when they sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup :
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his beds of down,
More sounder too;