THE TORBOLTON LASSES.

The following off-hand verses can scarcely be considered as a song, and they are strikingly inferior to his average efforts; yet, as expressive of a mood of his feelings regarding his fair neighbors in those days of simplicity, they appear not unworthy of preserva

tion.

Ir ye gae up to yon hill-tap,

Ye'll there see bonnie Peggy;
She kens her father is a laird,
And she forsooth's a leddy.

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Wha canna win her in a night,
Has little art in courting.

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,

And tak a look o' Mysie;

She's dour and din, a deil within,
But ablins she may please ye.

If she be shy, her sister try,
Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny,
If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense
She kens hersel she's bonnie.

obstinate

perhaps

As ye gae up by yon hillside,

Speer in for bonnie Bessy;

She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light, courtesy
And handsomely address ye.

There's few sae bonnie, nane sae guid,
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o' this-
It's Bessy's ain opinion!

THE RONALDS OF THE BENNALS.

It is rather remarkable that the young bard overlooks in this catalogue of damsels, a group who were certainly the predominant belles of the district, seeing that they were not merely good-looking girls, rather better educated than the Torbolton sisterhood, but the children of a man of considerable substance Robert and Gilbert Burns were both on intimate terms in this family. The latter at one time made tender advances, which were not destined to be accepted. Robert was too proud to venture on a refusal. This appears from a set of verses much resembling the last quoted, but more valuable for the illustration they afford of the poet's feelings and circumstances at this early period."

IN Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper young

men,

And proper young lasses and a', man;

But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals,' They carry the gree frae them a', man. palm

portion

Their father's a laird, and weel he can spare't,
Braid money to tocher them a', man,
Το proper young men, he'll clink in the hand
Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man.

There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seer As bonnie a lass or as braw, man;

But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best,

And a conduct that beautifies a', man.

The charms o' the min', the langer they shine,
The mair admiration they draw, man ;
While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies,
They fade and they wither awa, man.

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien',

A hint o' a rival or twa, man;

The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire,

If that wad entice her awa, man.

The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed,

For mair than a towmond or twa,

man;

twelvemonth

1 The Bennals is a farm in the western part of the parish. near Afton Lodge, and several miles from Lochlea.

The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board,

If he canna get her at a', man.

Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin,
The boast of our bachelors a', man:
Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete,
She steals our affections awa, man.

If I should detail the pick and the wale
O' lasses that live here awa, man,

The fault wad be mine, if they didna shine,
The sweetest and best o' them a', man.

I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell,
My poverty keeps me in awe, man;
For making o' rhymes, and working at times,
Does little or naething at a', man.

Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse,
Nor hae't in her power to say na, man;
For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure,
My stomach's as proud as them a', man.

comely

Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride,
And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man,
I can haud up my head wi' the best o' the breed
Though fluttering ever so braw man.

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man,

And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps,
And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man.

stitch

My sarks they are few, but five o' them new, shirts
Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man,
A ten shillings hat, a Holland cravat;
There are no mony poets sae braw, man.

I never had frien's, weel stockit in means,
To leave me a hundred or twa, man;
Nae weel-tochered aunts, to wait
drants,

And wish them in hell for it a', man.

on their

long prayers

I never was canny for hoarding o' money,
Or claughtin't together at a', man ;
I've little to spend, and naething to lend,
But deevil a shilling I awe, man.

lucky

catching

ON CESSNOCK BANKS.2

TUNE - If he be a Butcher neat and trim.

About this time (1781) Burns had met a young woman possessing many highly agreeable qualities,

1 A kind of cloth.

2 This piece appeared for the first time in Cromek's Rel iques, the editor stating that he had recovered it "from the ora communication of a lady residing at Glasgow, whom the