Though he the royal sceptre sways, THE LASS O' PATIE'S MILL+ RAMSAY. TUNE-The Lass o' Fatie's Mill. THE lass o' Patie's Mill, Sae bonnie, blythe, and gay, She stole my heart away. Without the help of art, Like flowers that grace the wild, I wish'd her for my bride. *From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. The scene of this song lies on the southern bank of the Irvine Water, near Newmills, in the eastern part of Ayrshire. I visited the spot in September 1826, and took an exact note of the locality. Patie's Mill, or rather Pate's Mill, for the poet seems to have eked out the name for the sake of his versification, stands about a stone-cast from the town of Newmills, and a mile from Loudoun Castle. The mill and all the contiguous tenements have been renewed since Ramsay's time, except part of one cottage. They occupy both sides of the road to Galston. A field is pointed out at the distance of two hundred yards from the mill, as that in which "the lass" was working at the time she was seen by the poet. Ramsay had been taking a forenoon ride with the Earl of Loudoun along the opposite bank of the river, when they observed the rural nymph, and the Earl pointed her out to his companion as a fit subject for his muse. Allan hung behind his lordship, in order to compose what was required, and produced the song at the dinner-table that afternoon. One stanza, too minutely descriptive of her charms, is omitted in the above copy. The song appeared for the first time in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. Oh! had I a' the wealth That nane but bonnie she, The lass o' Patie's Mill, Should share the same wi' me. THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE. [OLD VERSES.] TUNE-The yellow-hair'd Laddie. THE yellow-hair'd laddie sat doun on yon brae, The weather is cauld, and my cleadin is thin, The gudewife cries butt the house, Jennie, come ben; *From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. THE YELLOW-HAIR'D LADDIE. [NEW VERSES. RAMSAY. TUNE-The Yellow-hair'd Laddie. IN April, when primroses paint the sweet plain, There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn, The shepherd thus sung: "Though young Maddie be fair, Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air; "That Maddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth, "That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dower, Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour." Then sighing, he wish'd, would but parents agree, THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, JAMIE. BURNS. TUNE-Fee him, Father. THOU hast left me ever, Jamie, *From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Aften hast thou vow'd that death Now thou'st left thy lass for aye- Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Soon my weary een I'll close, THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN. TUNE-Auld Stuarts back again. THE auld Stuarts back again! We'll wauk their hides, and fyle their fuds, * "I enclose you," says Burns to Mr Thomson, [Correspondence, No. XLII.] Frazer's set of Fee him, father.' When he plays it slow, he makes it, in fact, the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement. Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Frazer gives it in playing, it would make an admirable pathetic song. I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time Patie Allan's mother died; that was about the back of midnight; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which had overset every mortal in company, except the hautbois and the muse." The editor of this work had the pleasure of hearing Mr Frazer play " Fee him, father," in the exquisite style above described, at his benefit in the Theatre-Royal, Edinburgh, 1822. After having for many years occupied the station of hautbois-player, in the orchestra of that place of amusement, he died in 1825, with the character of having been the very best performer on this difficult, but beautiful instrument, of his time, in Scotland. There's Ayr, and Irvine, wi' the rest, And they'll set up their crack again! Give ear unto this loyal sang, There ye might see the noble Mar, And mony mae, what reck, again. SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. SEMPLE. TUNE-She rose and let me in. THE night her silent sable wore, I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame, |