CXLII.

THE COT OF CONTENT.

Can a crown give content,

Or a palace give peace,

Ah, say, ah, say, did they ever?

Can pomp care prevent,

Or our pleasures encrease?

Ah, no, ah, no, no, never!

Then excuse me, nor frown, if my choice must approve, The cot of content, with the lad that I love.

When we put on a ring,

That a suiter may bring,

It binds us, it binds us, for ever;

But the hand without heart,

Can it blessing impart?

Ah, no, ah, no, no never!

Then excuse me, nor frown, if my choice must approve, The cot of content, with the lad that I love.

From the Opera of the " Maid of the Mill,"

Wi' his blue bonnet on his head,

And his doggie rinnin', quo' she,
And his doggie rinnin'?

*"This song, for genuine humour in the verses, and lively originality in the air, is unparalelled. I take it to be very old." It differs a little from that inserted in Cromek's select Scottish Songs by Burns.-In the second stanza, that of Cromek wants two lines, Fee him, &c. which is immaterial, but in the last stanza, the difference is greater. That which Cromek has printed, would no doubt be current at the time Burns lived, but from the coarseness of the ending it is highly improbable.

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him;

O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him;

For he is a gallant lad,

And a weel doing, quo' she;

And a' the wark about the house

Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' she,

Gaes wi' me when I see him.

What will I do wi' him? quo' he,
What will I do wi' him?
He's ne'er a sark upon his back,
And I hae nane to gi'e him.

I hae twa sarks into my kist,

And ane o' them I'll gi'e him

And for a mark o' mair fee,

Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she,
Dinna stand wi' him.

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she,
Weel do I lo'e him;

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she,

Weel do I lo'e him.

O fee him, father, fee him, quo' she,
Fee him, father, fee him;

He'll had the pleugh, thrash in the barn,

And crack wi' me at e'en, quo' she,

And crack wi' me at e'en.

CXLIV.

THERE LIVED A MAN.

Once in the flight of ages past,

There liv'd a man :-and who was he?

Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembl'd thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown: His name has perish'd from the earth, This truth survives àlone: -

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bliss and woe,-a smile, a tear!
-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirit's rise and fall, We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd-but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd, but his delights are fled;
Had friends-his friends are now no more;
And foes-his foes are dead.

He lov'd, but whom he lov'd, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
O she was fair!-but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw-whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:

He was whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,

Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye,

That once their shades and glory threw,

Have left, in yonder silent sky,

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins since the world began,

Of him afford no other trace,