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There is, when hush'd is every sound,

The world absorb'd in sleep;
When peaceful silence reigns around,

A charm in pensive mood profound,
• To sit alone and weep.

Then come, now bustling day is o'er,

And tranquil hours appear,
Peace to my wounded heart restore,
And let experience taste once more

The pleasure of a tear.

* CLXXX.

THE LORD'S MARIE...

The Lord's Marie has kepp'd her locks

Up wi' a gowden kame,
And she has put on her net-silk hose,

And awa to the tryste has gane;

* This truly excellent old song, was "procured by the Editor of the he liques of Burns, from Mrs. Copeland of Dalbeatie, in Galloway, by wo! exertions many specimens of the Caledonian Muse, of unquestionable biety have been rescued from oblivion. It is founded, says Mrs. Copeland, °

O saft, saft fell the dew on her locks,

And saft, saft on her brow;
Ae sweet drap fell on her strawberrie lip,

And I kiss'd it aff, I trow!

O whare gat ye that leal maiden,

Sae jimpy lac'd and sma’?
O whare gat ye that young damsel,

Wha dings our lasses a'?
• O whare gat ye that bonnie, bonnie lass,

Wi' heaven in her e'e ?
O here's ae drap o' the damask wine;

Sweet naiden, will ye pree ?

Fu' white, white was her bonnie neck,

Twist wi' the satin twine,
But ruddie, ruddie grew her hause,

While she supp'd the bluid-red wine.
• Come, here's thy health, young stranger doo,

Wha wears the gowden kame;
This night will mony drink thy health,

And kend na wha to name.'

traditional story of a daughter of Lord Maxwell of Nithsdale accom. panying, in disguise, a peasant to a rustic dancing tryste. “The Lord daughter sae gay," was discovered through the disguise of her rustic habili. ments. Tradition places the song at the Revolution, 1688. The language is more modern, but the ideas belong to that period. It is one of those happy productions, which keep a lasting hold of the mind by their enticing tale, and simple dramatic narration ; indeed, the simplicity of our lyrics, their broad humour, their vivid description, and their strong touches of native feeling and sensibility, make a lasting impression on the heart. They are perhaps the fairest any nation can boast, and will survive amid the wreck of those which society tramples down in its progress.

S

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Play me up, “Sweet Marie,” I cry'd,

And loud the piper blew,
But the fiddler play'd aye struntum strum,

And down his bow he threw, “Here's thy kind health, i' the ruddie red wine,

Fair dame o' the stranger land! For never a pair o' e'en before

Could mar my good bow-hand."

Her lips were a cloven hinney-cherrie,

Sae tempting to the sight;
Her locks owre alabaster brows,

Fell like the morning light;
And, O! her hinney breath lift her locks,

As through the dance she flew,
While luve laugh’d in her bonnie blue e'er.

And dwalt on her comely mou.

“ Loose hings yere broidered gowd garter,

Fair ladie, dare I speak?”
She, trembling, lift her silken hand

To her red, red Aushing cheek. • Ye've drappd, ye’ve drapp'd yere broach o' gowd,

Thou Lord's daughter sae gay,
The tears o'erbrimm'd her bonnie blue e'e,

• O come, O come away!

O maid unbar the siller bolt,

To my chamber let me win,
And tak this kiss, thou peasant youtb,

I daur na let ye in,

And take, quo she, 'this kame o' gowd,

Wi' my lock o' yellow hair,
For meikle my heart forbodes to me,

I never maun meet ye mair.'

CLXXXI.

HONEST MEN AND BONNY LASSES *.

AIR.-Roy's Wife o' Aldivalloch.

How green the fields, the flowers so fair,

How bright the sun, that o'er us passes,
How useless these if that there were

Nae honest men, nor bonny lasses.

Honest men and bonny lasses,
Honest men and bonny lasses,
Lang may live and happy be,
A honest men and bonny lasses.

* The gentleman who transmitted this song states, “ that he is informed it is the production of Patie Birnie, fiddler, Kinghorn, but as to the truth of it he cannot be certain." .

Bb

God's noblest work's an honest man,

A bonny lass by far's the fairest,
Of all that's fair in nature's plan,
And e'er to man will be the dearest.

Honest men, &c.

How happy, and how blest the man,

His days or nights can ne'er be dreary,
Who calls an honest man his friend,
And has a bonny lass for's deary.

Honest men and bonny lasses,
Honest men and bonny lasses,
A' they wish and a' they want,
To honest men and bonny lassese

CLXIV.

DIRGE OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE.

They lighted a taper at the dead hour of night,

And chaunted their holiest hymn, But her brow and her bosom was damp'd with affright,

Her eye was all cheerless and dim:

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