O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she,
O hey, Robin, quo' she,

Kind Robin lo'es me.

LXIV.

HELEN, THE PRIDE OF MONTROSE.

AIR.-The flower of Dumblane.

While some seek the mountain, and some seek the valley,

Give me the lone walks where the Esk proudly flows; For there I meet Helen a-wand'ring so gaily,

Young Helen, sweet Helen, the pride of Montrose. Her form has been moulded by love and the graces,

And nature's perfection bewitchingly shows, The eye hangs delighted as fondly it traces,

The beauty of Helen, the pride of Montrose.

'Tis charming to stray by the clear winding river,

Where thro' the tall arches it pleasantly flows; While love's gentle wishes I pause to discover,

To Helen, sweet Helen, the pride of Montrose.

Tho' mine were the wealth of the eastern mountains,

Where Ganges broad rolling o'er golden bed flows, I'd pine like the Arab in search of his fountains,

And sigh for sweet Helen, the pride of Montrose.

'Tis long since she held her empire in my bosom,

As time wears apace still the dearer sbe grows; All nature may languish, and spring cease to, blossom,

But still I'll love Helen, the pride of Montrose. Then come, ye sweet moments, when hymeneal blisses,

My hopes and my fears with enjoyment shall close, When I live but to love the sweet soul of my wishes,

Young Helen, sweet Helen, 'the pride of Montrose.

LXV.

MY SOUL IS DARK.

My soul is dark-oh! quickly string

The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fing

Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again ;
If in these eyes there lurks a tear,

'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.,

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first : I tell thee, Minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed,

And ach'd in sleepless silence long; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst,

And break at once-or yield to song.

LXVI.

LULLABY.

AIR-Bonny Wood o' Cragie Lee.

Rest, lovely babe, on mother's knee,
Rest, lovely babe, on mother's knee,
And cry na sae to fill wi' wae
The heart that only beats for thee.

Thou hast, my babe, nae father now,

To care for thee when I am gone;
And I hae ne'er a friend sae true
As would my bonny baby own.

Rest, lovely babe, &c.

O! ance, and I could little think

A lot sae hard would e'er be thine,
As thus a mother's tears to drink!
For, baby, thou hast drunk o' mine.

Rest, lovely babe, fc.

O smile, my babe! for sic a smile

Thy father aye put on to me;
O smile, my babe, and look the while,
For thou look’st wi' thy father's e'e.

Rest, lovely babe, fc.

O that this widow'd heart would beat

Till thou in years hadst upward grown,
That I might learn thy future fate,
Nor leave thee in the world alone.

Rest, lovely babe, fc.

LXVII.

O MEIKLE THINKS MY LOVE O' MY BEAUTY.

O meikle thinks my love o' my beauty,

And meikle thinks my love o' my kin, But little thinks my love I ken brawlie

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him,

'Tis a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree,

'Tis a' for the hinney he'll cherish the bee; My laddie's sae meikle in love wi' the siller,

He canna hae love to spare for me.

Your profer o'love's an airl-penny,

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
But gin ye be crafty, I'm cunning,

Sae ye wi' anither. your fortune maun try.

Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood,

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree,
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae than me.

LXVIII.

THE WOWING OF JOK AND JYNNY.

Robeyns Jok come to wow our Jynny,

On our feist-evin quhen we were fow;
Scho brankit fast, and maid hir bony,

And said, Jok, come ye for to wow ?

* This well known poem, by frequent publication, has been much corr ed, almost every publishershaving taken the liberty of introducing such a ations as his fancy suggested. The present however may be received,