II. The partridge loves the fruitful fells; III. Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, Some social join, and leagues combine; Some solitary wander : Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man's dominion; The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry, The flutt'ring, gory pinion. IV. But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear, The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, V. We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk, So dear can be as thou to me, The heroine of this song was "Montgomery's Peggy," who permitted the Poet to lavish on her all the choicest things of prose and verse, and then quietly said she was sorry her charms had made such havoc in his heart, for she was the lawful property of another, and had not the power of rewarding his raptures. The song is more beautiful than impassioned, and it is likely the Poet composed it less from deep regard than to shew that he could work her name as charmingly into the web of song, as he could captivate her attention by his eloquence. THE RANTIN DOG THE DADDIE O'T. Tune-"East nook o' Fife." I. O WHA my babie-clouts will buy? The rantin dog the daddie o't. II. O wha will own he did the fau't? The rantin dog the daddie o't. III. When I mount the creepie chair, The rantin dog the daddie o't. IV. Wha will crack to me my lane? The rantin dog the daddie o't. The hapless heroine of this humorous ditty was the mother of "Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess.”—“ I composed it," says the Poet, "pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud." Our old songs abound in allusions to the "creepie chair" and penitence in sackcloth. Burns, who modelled his strains on the rustic lyrics of the north, has shown more than their wit, with something of their indelicacy. One Nithsdale ditty commences thus "I am a silly auld man, Gaun hirplin' owre a tree; "If a' my duds were aff, An' nought but hale claes on, Pennycuik, a bard who has scarcely ceased to be popular among the peasantry, wrote "Rome's Legacy to the Kirk of Scotland; or, a Satire on the Stool of Repentance." Some of his verses are sharp and bitter: he places a sinner on the stool, and makes no little mirth with him. MY HEART WAS ANCE. Tune-" To the Weavers gin ye go.” I. My heart was ance as blythe and free But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, I rede you right gang ne'er at night, II. My mither sent me to the town, But the weary, weary warpin o't III. A bonnie westlin weaver lad, |