Be kind to the bairns a', and weil mat ye be;
And fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me.

This is nae me, &c.

John ran to the minister ; bis hair stood a' on end :
I've gotten sic a fricht, sir, I fear I'll never mend;
My wife's come hame without a head, crying out most

piteouslie :
Oh, fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me!

This is nae me, &c.

The tale you tell, the parson said, is wonderful to me, How that a wife without a head should speak, or hear,

or see ! But things that happen hereabout so strangely alter'd be, That I could maist wi' Bessie

say,

'Tis neither you nor she ! * Neither you nor she, quo' he, neither you nor she ; Wow, na, Johnnie man, 'tis neither you nor she.

Now Johnnie he cam hame again, and wow, but he was

fain,
To see his little Bessikie come to hersell again.
He got her sittin' on a stool, wi' Tibbock on her knee:
O come awa, Johnnie, quo' she, come awa to me;
For I've got a drap wi' Tibbikie, and this is now me.

This is now me, quo' she, this is now me;
I've got a drap wi' Tib

and this is no

m

* A Jacobite allusion, probably to the change of the Stuart for the Brunswick dynasty, in 1714.

KATE OF ABERDEEN.

CUNNINGHAM.

TUNE-Kate of Aberdeen.
The silver mo enamour'd beam

Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,

And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go, balmy sleep,

('Tis where you've seldom been,) May's vigils while the shepherds keep

With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,

In rosy chaplets gay,
Till morn unbar her golden gate,

And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promised May, when seen, Not balf so fragrant or so fair

As Kate of Aberdeen.,

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,

We'll rouse the nodding grove ; The nested birds shall raise their throats,

And hail the maid I love : And see the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green; Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,

Where midnight fairies rove, Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,

Or tune the reed to love :

For see the rosy May draws nigh,

She claims a virgin queen ;
And hark, the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.*

THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE.

BURNS.

TUNE_The Lass of Ballochmyle.
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,

On ilka blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,

And bore its fragrant sweets alang :
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang ;

All nature list’ning seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood 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 ;
The lily's hue, and rose's dye,

Bespake the lass o' Ballochmyle.

Fair is the morn in flowery May,

And sweet is night in Autumn mild,
When roving through the garden gay,

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild ;
But woman, Nature's darling child I

There all her charms she does compile ; * From Mr Cromek’s Select Scottish Songs, 2 vols. 1810. Cunningham, the author of the song, was a poor player in the north of England, and died about forty years ago.

Even there her other works are foild,

By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Oh, had she been a country maid,

And I the happy country swain,
Though shelter'd in the lowest shed

That ever rose on Scotland's plain !
Through 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 dig the Indian mine.
Give me the cot below the pine,

To tend the flocks, or till the soil,
And ev'ry day have joys divine,

Wi' the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.*

WERE NA MY HEART LICHT I WAD

DEE.

LADY GRIZZEL BAILLIE.

TUNE-Were na my heart licht.
THERE was anes a may, and she loo'd na men:
They biggit her a bouir doun i' yon glen;

* This song was written in praise of Miss Alexander of Ballochmyle. Burns happened one fine evening to meet this young lady, when walking through the beautiful woods of Ballochmyle, which lie at the distance of two miles from his farm of Mossgiel, near Mauchline. Struck with a sense of her passing beauty, he wrote this noble lyric; which he soon after sent to her, enclosed in a letter, as full of delicate and romantic sentiment as itself. He was somewhat mortified to find, that either maidenly modesty, or pride of superior station, prevented her from acknowledging the receipt of his compliment.

Daughter of the patriotic Patrick, first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George Bailie, Esq. of Jerviswood ; a lady of singular talent and strength

But now she cries Dule and well-a-day!
Come doun the green gate, and come here away.

But now she cries, &c.

When bonnie young Jamie cam ower the sea,
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me;
He hecht me baith rings and monie braw things;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

He hecht me, &c.

He had a wee titty that loo'd na me,
Because I was twice as bonnie as she;
She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his mother,
That were na my heart licht I wad dee.

She raised, &c.

The day it was set, and the bridal to be:
The wife took a dwam, and lay down to dee.
She main'd, and she graned, out o' dolour and pain,
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again.

She main'd, &c.

His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said, what had he to do wi' the like of me?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie:
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

Albeit I was bonnie, &c.

They said I had neither cow nor caff,
Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff,
Nor pickles o' meal rins through the mill-ee ;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

Nor pickles, &c.

His titty she was baith wylie and slee,
She spied me as I cam ower the lea;

of mind, and adorned with all the domestic virtues. Her Memoirs, written by her daughter, Lady Murray of Stanhope, and lately published, form one of the most delightful volumes of the kind in the English language. She died, a widow, in 1746.