John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
"Twill heighten all his joy:

'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

Tune-"Corn rigs are bonnie."

[Two young women of the west, Anne Ronald and Anne Blair, have each, by the distria traditions, been claimed as the heroine of this early song.]

My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I hae been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie.
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY.

Tune-" Galla- Water."

["My Montgomery's Peggy," says Burns, "was my deity for six or eight months: she had been bred in a style of life rather elegant: it cost me some heart-aches to get rid of the affair." The young lady listened to the eloquence of the poet, poured out in many ar Interview, and then quietly told him that she stood unalterably engaged to another.]

ALTHO' my bed were in yon muir,

Among the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy;

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms

I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.

Were I a baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready,
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,

The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.

THE MAUCHLINE LADY.

Tune-"I had a horse, I had nae mair."

[The Mauchline lady who won the poet's heart was Jean Armour: she loved to relate how the bard made her acquaintance: his dog ran across some linen webs which she was bleaching among Mauchline gowans, and he apologized so handsomely that she took another look at him. To this interview the world owes some of our most impassioned strains.]

WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,

My mind it was nae steady;
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,

A mistress still I had ay:

But when I came roun' by Mauchline town,

Not dreadin' any body,

My heart was caught before I thought,

And by a Mauchline lady.

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.

Tune-" The deuks dang o'er my daddy!”

["The Highland Lassie" was Mary Campbell, whose too early death the poet sung in strains that will endure while the language lasts. "She was," says Burns, "a warm hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love."]

NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,

Shall ever be my muse's care:
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland lassie, O

Within the glen sae bushy, (,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good-will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine,
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland lassie, O.

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland lassie, O.

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland lassie, O.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band!
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O.

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.

PEGGY.

[The heroine of this song is said to have been "Montgomery's Peggy."]

Tune-"I had a horse, I had nae mair."

Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,
To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains;
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
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.

But Peggy, dear, the ev'ning's clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow :
Come let us stray our gladsome way,
And view the charms of nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not autumn to the farmer,

So dear can be as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely charmer!