E'en time itself despairs to cure
Those pangs to ev'ry feeling due :
Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor,
To win a heart-and break it too.

No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,

He made me blest-and broke my heart.*
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn;
Neglected and neglecting all;
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ;
The tears I shed must ever fall.

THE SOUTERS O' SELKIRK.

TUNE-The Souters of Selkirk.

IT'S up with the souters o' Selkirk,
And doun wi' the Earl o' Hume!
And here is to a' the braw laddies
That wear the single-soled shoon!

Fye upon yellow and yellow,

And fye upon yellow and green;
But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,
And up wi' the single-soled shoon.

It's up wi' the souters o' Selkirk,

For they are baith trusty and leal;

The quatrain ending here was supplied by Burns, to make the stanzas suit the music. This beautiful poem first appeared in Johnson's Musical Museum, Part IV, 1792.

And up wi' the lads o' the Forest,
And doun with the Merse to the deil !*

O, MAY, THY MORN.

BURNS.

O, MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet
As the mirk nicht o' December;

* The first and third verse of this strange rant are from Johnson's Musical Museum, [vol. v, circa 1798.] The second verse is supplied from a copy published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. There are various ways of accounting for the origin and occasion of the song; but it seems probable that the writer of the Statistical Account of the parish of Selkirk is right, when he says that it refers to a match at foot-ball which took place at some remote period between the Hume and Philiphaugh families, and in which the shoemakers of Selkirk acted a conspicuous part. The colours execrated in the second verse are those of the Earl of Hume's livery.

The following is an expanded version of the song from Mr Allan Cunningham's Collection:

Up with the souters of Selkirk,

And down with the Earl of Home!
And up wi' a' the brave lads,

Wha sew the single-soled shoon!

O! fye upon yellow and yellow,
And fye upon yellow and green;
And up wi' the true blue and scarlet,
And up wi' the single-soled shoon!

Up wi' the souters of Selkirk-
Up wi' the lingle and last!

There's fame wi' the days that's coming,
And glory wi' them that are past.

Up wi' the souters of Selkirk-
Lads that are trusty and leal;

And up with the men of the Forest,
And down wi' the Merse to the deil!

O! mitres are made for noddles,

But feet they are made for shoon;

And fame is as sib to Selkirk

As light is true to the moon.

There sits a souter in Selkirk,

Wha sings as he draws his thread-
There's gallant souters in Selkirk
As lang there's water in Tweed.

For sparkling was the rosy wine,
And private was the chamber:
And dear was she, I darena name,
But I will aye remember;
And dear was she, I darena name,
But I will aye remember.

And here's to them that, like oursell,
Can push about the jorum :
And here's to them that wish us weel
May a' that's gude watch o'er them!
And here's to them we darena tell,
The dearest o' the quorum;
And here's to them we darena tell,
The dearest o' the quorum.

CHARLIE, HE'S MY DARLING.

[OLD VERSES.]

TUNE-Charlie is my darling..

'TWAS on a Monday morning,
Richt early in the year,
That Charlie cam to our toun,
The young Chevalier.

And Charlie he's my darling,

My darling, my darling;
Charlie he's my darling,

The young Chevalier.

As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,

O there he spied a bonnie lass,
The window looking through.

Sae licht's he jumped up the stair,
And tirled at the pin;

And wha sae ready as hersell,
To let the laddie in!

He set his Jenny on his knee,
All in his Highland dress;
For brawly weel he kenned the way
To please a bonnie lass.

It's up yon heathy mountain,
And down yon scroggy glen,

We daurna gang a-milking,
For Charlie and his men."

*

STEER HER UP AND HAUD HER GAUN.

TUNE-Steer her up and haud her gaun.

O STEER her up and haud her gaun;
Her mother's at the mill, jo:
But gin she winna tak a man,
E'en let her tak her will, jo.
Pray thee, lad, leave silly thinking;
Cast thy cares of love away;
Let's our sorrows drown in drinking;
'Tis daffin langer to delay.

See that shining glass of claret,
How invitingly it looks!

Take it aff, and let's have mair o't;
Pox on fighting, trade, and books!

From Johnson's Musical Museum, vol. v, circa 1798.

Let's have pleasure, while we're able;
Bring us in the meikle bowl;
Place't on the middle of the table;
And let wind and weather gowl.

Call the drawer; let him fill it
Fou as ever it can hold :
Oh, tak tent ye dinna spill it ;
'Tis mair precious far than gold.
By you've drunk a dozen bumpers,
Bacchus will begin to prove,
Spite of Venus and her mumpers,
Drinking better is than love.*

CLOUT THE CALDRON.+

TUNE-Clout the Caldron.

HAVE ye any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers ?+
I am a tinker to my trade,

And newly come frae Flanders,
As scant of siller as of grace;
Disbanded, we've a bad run;

*From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.

"A tradition is mentioned in The Bee,' that the second Bishop Chisholm of Dunblane used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing would soothe his mind so much by the way, as to hear Clout the Caldron' played.

"I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune

Hae ye ony pots or pans,

Or ony broken chandlers?

was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in the earlier times, and alluded to an amour he had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the name of The blacksmith and his apron,' which, from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune."-BURNS, apud Cromek's Select Scottish Songs, I, 11.

Candlesticks.