Sae jimply laced her genty waist, slenderly-sin That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant move,
And Pleasure leads the van;

In a' their charms and conquering arms
They wait on bonny Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man ;
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a',
Beware o' bonny Ann!

JOHN ANDERSON.

TUNE-John Anderson my Jo.

JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither,

dear

smooth

bald

And monie a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither:

Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

pleasant

THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR.1

TUNE- Cameronian Rant.

In this instance Burns has concentrated in his own language a more diffuse song on the same subject, which is understood to have been the composition of Mr. Barclay, a Berean minister of some note about the middle of the last century, uncle to the distinguished anatomist of the same name.

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?

Or were ye at the Sherra-muir,

And did the battle see, man?"

1 "This was written about the time ur bard made his tour to the Highlands, 1787.”.

Currie.

Gilbert Burns enter

tained a doubt if the song was by h's brother; but for this we can see no just grounds.

"I saw the battle, sair and tough,
And reekin' red ran monie a sheugh;

My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,

O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,

channe

sigh

knocks

:lothes

Wha glaumed at kingdoms three, man. grasped

"The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,

To meet them were na slaw, man;

They rushed and pushed, and bluid outgushed, And monie a bouk did fa', man:

The great Argyle led on his files,

I wat they glanced for twenty miles:

corpse

They hacked and hashed, while broadswords clashed,

And through they dashed, and hewed, and

smashed,

Till fey men died awa', man.

"But had you seen the philabegs,

And skyrin tartan trews, man,

predestined

When in the teeth they dared our Whigs,

And covenant true-blues, man;

In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets opposed the targe,
And thousands hastened to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,

They fled like frighted doos, man.”

shining

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true? The chase gaed frae the North, man; I saw myself, they did pursue

bridge

The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling winged their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And monie a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man!"

"My sister Kate cam up the gate

Swoon

road

porridge

Wi' crowdie unto me, man; She swore she saw some rebels run Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : Their left-hand general had nae skill, The Angus lads had nae good-will That day their neibors' blood to spill; For fear, by foes, that they should lose Their cogs o' brose-all crying pails of pottage

woes;

And so it goes, you see, man.

"They've lost some gallant gentlemen
Amang the Highland clans, man ;
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
But monie bade the world guid-night;

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets' knell,
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell,

And Whigs to hell did flee, man."

BLOOMING NELLY.

TUNE- On a Bank of Flowers.

ON a bank of flowers, in a summer-day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest ;

When Willie, wandering through the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes like weapons sheathed,
Were sealed in soft repose;
Her lip, still as she fragrant breathed,
It richer dyed the rose.

The springing lilies sweetly prest,

Wild-wanton, kissed her rival breast;

He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,

His bosom ill at rest.