The May-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than mine :
But, lady, weave no wreath for me,
Or weave it of the cypress tree.

Let dimpled mirth his temples twine
With tendrils of the laughing vine ;
The manly oak, the pensive yew,
To patriot or to sage be due.
The myrtle-bough bids lovers live,
But that Matilda will not give.
Then, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress tree.

Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses bought so dear;
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue
With heath and hare-bell dipp'd in dew
On favour'd Erin's crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald green:
But, lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the

cypress

tree. Strike the wild harp, while

maids prepare The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; And while his crown of laurel-leaves With bloody hand the victor weaves, Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; But when you hear the passing-bell, Then, lady, twine a wreath for me, And twine it of the cypress tree.

Yes, twine for me the cypress-bough;
But, O Matilda, twine not now !
Stay till a few brief months are past,
And I have look'd and loved my last !
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With pansies, rosemary,

and rue

Then, lady, weave a wreath for me,
And weave it of the cypress-tree !

0 WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOUN.

BURNS.

TUNE-I'll gang nae mair to yon toun. O wat ye wha's in yon toun

Ye see the e'ening sun upon ?
The fairest maid's in yon toun,

That e'ening sun is shining on.
Now baply down yon gay green shaw,

She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest, ye flow'rs, that round her blaw !

Ye catch the glances o' her ee.
How blest, ye birds, that round her sing,

And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring,

The season to my Jeanie dear!

The sun blinks blythe on yon toun,

Amang yon broomy braes sae green ; But my delight, in yon toun,

And dearest pleasure, is my Jean. Without my love, not a' the charms

Of Paradise could yield me joy ; But gie me Jeanie in my arms,

And welcome Lapland's drearie sky. My cave wad be a lover's bower,

Though raging winter rent the air ; And she a lovely little flower,

That I wad tent and shelter there.

O sweet is she in yon toun,

The sinking sun's gane down upon;

The dearest maid's in yon toun,

His setting beam e'er shone upon.
If angry fate be sworn my foe,

And suffering I am doom'd to bear,
I'll careless quit aught else below;

oh I spare me Jeanie dear.
For, while life's dearest blood runs warm,

My thoughts frae her shall ne'er depart:
For, as most lovely is her form,

She has the truest, kindest heart.*

But spare,

THE BOATIE ROWS.

TUNE- The Boatie rows.
O WEEL may the boatie row,

And better may she speed !
And weel may the boatie row,

That wins the bairns's bread!
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'

That wishes her to speed !

I cuist my line in Largo Bay,

And fishes I caught nine;
There's three to boil, and three to fry,

And three to bait the line.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed ;
And happy be the lot of a'

That wishes her to speed !

* This song was written upon Miss Lucy Johnstone, afterwards Mrs Os. wald of Auchincruive, a most accomplished and lovely woman, who died in the prime of life at Lisbon. The poet, in his first fervour, thought of sending his song to the heroine, but immediately after gave up the idea ; because, said he, in a letter to Mr Syme,“ perhaps what I offer as the honest incense of genuine respect, might, from the well-known character of poverty and poetry, be construed into some modification of that servility which my soul abhors."

† Stated by Burns to have been written by a Mr Ewen of Aberdeen,

O weel may the boatie row,

That fills a heavy creel,
And cleads us a' frae head to feet,

And buys our parritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed ; And happy be the lot of a'

That wish the boatie speed.

When Jamie vow'd he would be mine,

And wan frae me my heart,
O muckle lighter grew my creel !

He swore.we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows fu' weel;
And muckle lighter is the lade,

When love bears up the creel.

My kurch I put upon my head,

And dress’d mysell fu' braw ;
I trow my heart was douf and wae,

When Jamie gaed awa:
But weel may the boatie row,

And lucky be her part;
And lightsome be the lassie's care

That yields an honest heart !

When Sawnie, Jock, and Janetie,
Are

up, and gotten lear,
They'll help to gar the boatie row,

And lighten a' our care.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows fu' weel;
And lightsome be her heart that bears

The murlain and the creel !

And when wil we're worn down,

And hirpling round the door,

age

They'll row to keep us hale and warm,

As we did them before :
Then, weel may the boatie row,

That wins the bairns's bread;
And happy be the lot of a'

That wish the boat to speed !*

THE ROSY BRIER.

BURNS.

TUNE- The wee wee Man.

O, BONNIE was yon rosy brier,

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man;
And bonnier she, and, ah, how dear !

It shaded frae the e'enin' sun.

Yon rose-buds in the mornin' dew,

How pure amang the leaves sae green;
But purer was the lover's vow

They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

All in its rude and prickly bower,

That crimson'd rose, how sweet and fair !
But love is a far sweeter flower,

Amid life's thorny path o' care.

The pathless wild and wimplin' burn,

Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ;
And I the world nor wish nor scorn,

Its joys and griefs alike resign.

From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, volume the Fifth, published circa 1796.

It is customary to abridge this song when sung, by giving only the first, second, and sixth verses.

U