"Ate'en when a' the lave gae by "And grannie steeks her waukrife e'e, "Steal out when I the winnock tap, "Ahint the ha' I'll meet wi' thee." Blythely, &c. She leugh, and bade me let her hame, Her mither sair wad flyte and scauld, But e'er I quat my bonnie Bess, Anither tale, I trow, she tauld. Blythely, &c. On Tysday night, fu' weel I wat, Blythely, &c. Now when I con'd my artless tale, The bittern cry'd frae yont the loch, "O hoolie, hoolie-where ye gaun? ' The quail reply'd frae 'mang the corn, "Turn out your taes, my bonnie man." Blythely, &c, And soon I faund, wi' shiv'ring shanks, Wha saw the saft, the silken hour, Tho' joys celestial on ye wait, Say, was your bliss mair chastely pure? Blythely, &c. But fare ye weel, my bonnie lass, Blythely, &c. LXXXIX. SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. AIR-Open the door. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, He had liv'd for his love, for his country he died, Oh! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest, They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, XC. SUMMER COMES, &c *. AIR-Hey, tuttie, tuttie, Summer comes, and in her train With her varied scenery. * If we are correct in our supposition, this song comes from one who has already favoured us with a variety of communications. In looking over these, we were particularly struck with the versatility of our author's genius, and the happy mode of expression which he has uniformly adopted. His compositions exhibit to us a mind easily affected by the constant vicissitude both of enjoyment and of hope. They are sometimes solemnized by indulging in mournful and tender strains, at other times, they abound in all the gaiety of the most playful fancy. In whatever way, however, he employs his muse, it is still with the greatest advantage to his subject. It will, no doubt, be objected to us here, that the good judgement of the author does not appear conspicuous in this song. It may be said that the air and the words do not agree together. This was an objection which the author informs us he himself had anticipated. He had always observed (he says) that this air had been generally appropriated by poets to the celebration martial or harsh sounding strains, and that so far as he knew, it had never been adapted with words like the present. He was always, however, of opinion, that this might be very properly attempted, and accordingly in me of his leisure moments, and for his own amusement, he composed these tanzas Now the primrose, sweetest flower! Of brighter sun and warmer shower, Here the gowan lifts its head, As if afraid some foot would tread Back into its native bed, All its lowly finery. There again the heath-bell blue, Forms its cup of azure hue, As if to sip the silver dew That falls at eve refreshingly. And when evening comes so still, How sweet to hear, from yonder hill, The gurgling sound of rapid rill Fall on the ear harmoniously. How sweet to hear, from yonder grove, The mavis tune his note to love, While, bless'd with thee, I fondly rove Along the glen so cheerily. |