WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?

AIR The Sutor's Dochter.

WILT thou be my dearie?

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee?
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee,

I swear and vow that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie!

Only thou, I swear and vow,

Shall ever be my dearie!

Lassie, say thou lo’es me;
Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
Say na thou'lt refuse me.
If it winna, canna be,

Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me!
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me!

LOVELY POLLY STEWART.

TUNE - Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart.

Polly Stewart was the daughter of a certain Willie Stewart, on whom Burns wrote some impromptu stanzas. She was reared in comfortable circumstances, a few miles from Burns's residence at Ellisland, and was married to a gentleman of large property. Sad to relate of one for whom Burns promised that worth and truth would give her eternal youth, this poor woman fell aside from the path of honor, and sunk into the most humble circumstances in her old age. It was stated a few years ago, that she lived as “a poor lavender" (to use a phrase of Barbour's) in Maxwelltown. She is believed to have subsequently died in France.

O LOVELY Polly Stewart !
O charming Polly Stewart!

There's not a flower that blooms in May
That's half so fair as thou art.

The flower, it blaws, it fades, and fa's,
And art can ne'er renew it;

But worth and truth eternal youth
Will give to Polly Stewart.

May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms, Possess a leal and true heart;

To him be given to ken the heaven

He grasps in Polly Stewart.

O lovely Polly Stewart!

O charming Polly Stewart !

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May That's half so sweet as thou art.

COULD AUGHT OF SONG.1

TUNE-At Setting Day.

COULD aught of song declare my pains,
Could artful numbers move thee,
The Muse should tell, in laboured strains,
O Mary, how I love thee!

They who but feign a wounded heart
May teach the lyre to languish ;

1 The air to which Burns wrote this song, was the produc tion of Dr. Samuel Howard, organist of St. Clement's Danes in the middle of the last century. It was composed for Ramsay's song, At Setting Day and Rising Morn, and in this connection attained some popularity.

But what avails the pride of art,

When wastes the soul with anguish?

Then let the sudden bursting sigh

The heart-felt pang discover; And in the keen, yet tender eye, O read the imploring lover! For well I know thy gentle mind Disdains art's gay disguising, Beyond what fancy e'er refined, The voice of nature prizing.

WAE IS MY HEART.

TUNE-Wae is my Heart.

WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e; Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me; Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my

ear.

Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I loved, Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I proved

But this bruisèd heart that now bleeds in my

breast,

I can feel its throbbings will soon be at rest.

Oh, if I were happy, where happy I hae been, Down by yon stream, and yon bonny castle green!

For there he is wand'ring, and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's e'e.

HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNY

LASS.

TUNE- Laggan Burn.

HERE'S to thy health, my bonny lass,
Guid-night, and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
O dinna think, my pretty pink,
But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care
How lang ye look about ye.

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me
Thou hast nae mind to marry,