ROBERT BURNS.

And they declare Terreagles fair,
For their abode they chuse it;
There's no a heart in a' the land,
But's lighter at the news o't.

Tho' stars in skies may disappear
And angry tempests gather;
The happy hour may soon be near

That brings us pleasant weather:
The weary night o' care and grief
May hae a joyful morrow;
So dawning day has brought relief-
Fareweel our night o' sorrow!

AS I WAS A-WAN D'RING.

Tune-" Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh."

[The original song in the Gaelic language was translated for Burns by an Inverness shire lady; he turned it into verse, and sent it to the Museum.]

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin',

The pipers and youngsters were making their game;
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,
Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again.
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him;

I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;

I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

I could na get sleeping till dawin for greetin',

The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain:
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,
For, oh! luve forsaken's a tormenting pain.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him,
I may be distress'd, but I winna complain;

I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL.

Tune-" The sweet lass that lo'es me."

[There are several variations of this song, but they neither affect the sentiment, no afford matter for quotation.]

O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on the rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel!

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white,
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheel.

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And Echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the cov hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?

Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?

O LUVE WILL VENTURE IN.

Tune-"The Posie."

["The Posie is my composition," says Burns, in a letter to Thomson. "The air was taken down from Mrs. Burns's voice." It was first printed in the Museum.]

O LUVE will venture in

Where it daurna weel be seen;

O luve will venture in

Where wisdom ance has been.
But I will down yon river rove,

Amang the wood sae green-
And a' to pu' a posie

To my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu',

The firstling o' the year,

And I will pu' the pink,

The emblem o' my dear;

For she's the pink o' womankind,

And blooms without a peer

And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose,

When Phoebus peeps in view

For it's like a baumy kiss

O' her sweet bonnie mou;
The hyacinth's for constancy,
Wi' its unchanging blue-
And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure,

And the lily it is fair,

And in her lovely bosom

I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity,

And unaffected airAnd a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu'

Wi' its locks o' siller gray, Where, like an aged man,

It stands at break of day.

But the songster's nest within the bush

I winna tak away

And a' to be a posie

To my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu'

When the e'ening star is near,

And the diamond draps o' dew

Shall be her e'en sae clear;

The violet's for modesty,

Which weel she fa's to wear,

And a to be a posie

To my dear May.

I'll tie the posie round,

Wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, And I'll swear by a' above, That to my latest draught of life The band shall ne'er remove,

And this will be a posie

To my ain dear May.

COUNTRY LASSIE.

Tune-"The Country Lass."

[A manuscript copy before me, in the poet's handwriting, presents two or three imma terial variations of this dramatic song.]

IN simmer when the hay was mawn,

And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;

Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says I'll be wed, come o't what will;
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild-
O' guid advisement comes nae ill.

For Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:

Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best,

An hungry care's an unco care:

But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.