HE. The bee that thro' the sunny hour SHE. The woodbine in the dewy weet When evening shades in silence meet, Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet HE. Let Fortune's wheel at random rin, And fools may tyne, and knaves may win; And that's my ain dear Philly. SHE. What's a' joys that gowd can gie? CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. Tune-" Lumps o' Pudding.” [Burns was an admirer of many songs which the more critical and fastidious regarded as rude and homely. "Todlin Hame" he called an unequalled composition for wit and humour, and "Andro wi' his cutty Gun," the work of a master. In the same letter, where he records these sentiments, he writes his own inimitable song, "Contented wi Little."] CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS. Tune-" Roy's Wife." [When Burns transcribed the following song for Thomson, on the 20th of November. 1794, he added, "Well! I think this, to be done in two or three turns across my room, and with two or three pinches of Irish blackguard, is not so far amiss. You see I am resolved to have my quantum of applause from somebody." The poet in this song complains of the coldness of Mrs. Riddel: the lady replied in a strain equally tender and forgiving.] CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy? Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? MY NANNIE'S AWA. Tune-" There'll never be peace." [Clarinda, tradition avers, was the inspirer of this song, which the poet composed in December, 1794, for the work of Thomson. His thoughts were often in Edinburgh: on festive occasions, when, as Campbell beautifully says, "The wine-cup shines in light," he seldom forgot to toast Mrs. Mac.] Now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays, The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, O WHA IS SHE THAT LOVES ME. Tune-"Morag." ["This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "is said, in Thomson's collection, to have been writ ten for that work by Burns: but it is not included in Mr. Cunningham's edition." If Sir Harris would be so good as to look at page 245, vol. V., of Cunningham's edition of Burns, he will find the song: and if he will look at page 28, and page 193 of vol. III. of his own edition, he will find that he has not committed the error of which he accuses his felloweditor, for he has inserted the same song twice. The same may be said of the song to Chloris, which Sir Harris has printed at page 312, vol. II., and at page 189, vol. III., and of Ae day a braw woer came down the lang glen," which appears both at page 224 of nd at page 183 of vol. III.] O WHA is she that lo'es me, And has my heart a-keeping? |