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XC.

SUMMER COMES, &c *.

AIR-Hey, tuttie, tuttie,

Summer comes, and in her train
Flora dances o'er the plain,
Decking all around again,

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 composi. tions exhibit to us a mind casily 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 Kays) that this air had been generally appropriated by poets to the celebration e martial or harsh sounding strains, and that so far as he knew, it had bever 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 leizure moments, and for his own amusement, he composed these

Now the primrose, sweetest flower!
First to own the genial power,
Of brighter sun and warmer shower,

Blooms in virgin modesty.

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. .

XCI.

MY FATHER AND MOTHER, &c

AJR—The Harper of Mull.

“My father and mother now lie with the dead,
And friendship, with them, and with fortune has fled,
And wilt thou too leave me, my lover? ah! no,
Thou never canst add to the weight of my woe.

"No, Menie tho' father and mother are gone,
Tho' fortune deserts thee, and friends on thee frown,
Thy lover when distant afar o'er the sea,
Will still be as constant as ever to thee.

" Then how canst thou seek on a far distant strand
For what may be found in thy own native land;
If happiness is, and it must be thy bent,
Can riches secure peace of mind or content.

”No more, my dear Menie-thy wish I obey,
I will not I cannot from thee go away,
Tho' less are our riches yet nothing is lost,
We're happier than those who their thousands can boast.'

XCII.

FAREWELL.

Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer

For others weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air,

But waft thy name beyond the sky. 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh :

Oh! more than tears of blood can tell, When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,

Are in that word-Farewell !-Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ;

But in my breast, and in my brain, Awake the pangs that pass not by,

The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,

Though grief and passion there rebel; I only know we lov'd in vain

I only feel-Farewell !-Farewell !

CXIII.

WHISTLE AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.

O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle and I'll come to ye, my lad,
Tho' father and mother and a' should, gae mad,
Thy Jeany will venture out wi' ye, my lad.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-style and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na coming to me,
And come as ye were na coming to me.

O whistle, &c.

At kirk or at market, when e'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flee,
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e’e,
Yet look as ye were na looking to me.
Yet look as ye were na looking to me.

O whistle, &c.

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