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There is, when hush'd is every sound,
The world absorb'd in sleep;
A charm in pensive mood profound,
Then come, now bustling day is o'er,
And tranquil hours appear,
The pleasure of a tear.
THE LORD'S MARIE...
The Lord's Marie has kepp'd her locks
Up wi' a gowden kame,
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;
And I kiss'd it aff, I trow!
O whare gat ye that leal maiden,
Sae jimpy lac'd and sma’?
Wha dings our lasses a'?
Wi' heaven in her e'e ?
Sweet naiden, will ye pree ?
Fu' white, white was her bonnie neck,
Twist wi' the satin twine,
While she supp'd the bluid-red wine.
Wha wears the gowden kame;
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.
Play me up, “Sweet Marie,” I cry'd,
And loud the piper blew,
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;
Fell like the morning light;
As through the dance she flew,
And dwalt on her comely mou.
“ Loose hings yere broidered gowd garter,
Fair ladie, dare I speak?”
To her red, red Aushing cheek. • Ye've drappd, ye’ve drapp'd yere broach o' gowd,
Thou Lord's daughter sae gay,
• O come, O come away!
O maid unbar the siller bolt,
To my chamber let me win,
I daur na let ye in,
And take, quo she, 'this kame o' gowd,
Wi' my lock o' yellow hair,
I never maun meet ye mair.'
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,
Nae honest men, nor bonny lasses.
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." .
God's noblest work's an honest man,
A bonny lass by far's the fairest,
Honest men, &c.
How happy, and how blest the man,
His days or nights can ne'er be dreary,
Honest men and bonny lasses,
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: