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Such was my Chloris' bonnie face

When first her bonnie face I saw ;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,-

She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Like harmony her motion ;

Her pretty ancle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion

Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ;
Ilk feature-auld Nature

Declared that she could do nae mair.
Hers are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering beauty's sovereign law;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,-

She says she lo’es me best of a'.
Let others love the city,

And gaudy show at sunny noon;
Gie me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve, and rising moon
Fair beaming, and streaming

Her silver light the boughs amang;
While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes his sang;
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove

By wimpling burn and leafy shaw,
And hear my vows o'truth and love,

And say thou lo’es me best of a'? Burns's songs were not all adapted to Scottish, but some few of them to Irish and to English melodies. “Do you know," he says, in a letter to Thomson," a blackguard Irish song called “Onagh's waterfall? The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rusti Muse, to expect that every effort of hers shall have merit; still I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air than none at all.”


SECRET LOVE. From the “Minstrelsy of the North of Scotland," collected by Peter Buchan.

Dinna ask me gin I luve thee,

Deed I darena tell ;
Dinna ask me gin I luve thee,

Ask it o' yoursel'.

When ye come to yon town end

For mony a lass ye'll see
Dinna, dinna look at them,
For fear ye mindna me.

Dinna ask me, &c.
Oh, dinna look at me sa aft,

Sae well as ye may true;
For when ye look at me sae aft,
I canna look at you.

Dinna ask me, &c.
Little ken ye but mony ane

Will say they fancy thee ;
But only keep you, mind, to them
That fancy nane but thee.

Dinna ask me, &c.

From a manuscript collection of the “ Northern Scottish Minstrelsy,"

by Peter Buchan.
WILL ye gae, my bonny May;

Will ye gae, my bonny bridie ;
Will ye gae, my bonny May,

An' breast the braes O'Delvin sidie?
Where got ye that bonny May;

Where got ye that bonny bridie?
I got her down Buchan's how,

An' brought her up to Delvin sidie.
Can ye play me Delvin side ;

Can ye play me Delvin diddle ?
Oh, play me up sweet Delvin side,

Or else I swear I'll brak your fiddle.
I can play ye Delvin side,

I can play ye Delvin diddle,
I can play ye Delvin side ;

My bowstring's sweet, an' sweet's my fiddle. This composition is of no merit, but is given, with others from Mr. Bachan's co lection, as a specimen of the songs that continue to be popular among the peasantry, notwithstanding all that was done by Burns and others to introduce a higher style and better taste among them.


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From a manuscript copy of the ancient “Mintsrelsy of the North of Scotland,"

by Peter Buchan.
THERE's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile you,
Though the world should revile you;
Though the world should revile you,
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile you.
Some for gold and others for money,
But I do love you 'cause you're bonny;
Though the world should revile you,
There's my thumb, I'll ne'er beguile you.
It's not for your beauty I adore you,
But it's the humour that shines o’er you ;
Though the rocks may sooner hear me,
My charming creature, I'll admire thee.
Curse on rambling, plague on ranging ;
On all wicked thoughts o' changing ;
Though thou'd frown, hate, and abhor me,
My charming nymph, I'd still adore thee.


From a manuscript copy of the “ Songs of the North of Scotland,"

collected by Peter Buchan.

Why should I sit an' sigh

When the greenwoods bloom sae briery?
Lavrocks sing, flowrets spring,

And a' but me are cheery.
Ohon, orie, there's something wanting;
Ohon, orie, I'm

weary ;
There is nae blythe nor bonny lad

Comes o'er the knowes to cheer me.

When the day wears away,

Sad I look adown the valley ;
Ilka sound wi' a stound
Sets my heart a-thrilling.

Ohon, orie, &c.

When I see the plover flee,

O’er the Caerlock wheeling, Then I trow some bonny lad Is coming to my dwelling.

Ohon, orie, &c.

Come awa, come awa,

Herd, or hind, or boatman laddie ;
I hae cow, kid, an' ewe,
Gowd and gear, to gain you.

Ohon, orie, &c.

My wee cot is blest an’ happy,

Oh, its neat and cleanly ; Sweet's the brier blooms beside it, Kind's the heart that's lonely.

Ohon, orie, &c.


DR. John LEYDEN, died 1811.

How sweet thy modest light to view,

Fair star! to love and lovers dear; While trembling on the falling dew,

Like beauty shining through the tear; Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream

To mark each image trembling there, Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam

To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night,

The moon thy timid beams outshine As far as thine each starry light

Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft enchanting hours

When twilight lingers on the plain, And whispers to the closing flow'rs,

That soon the sun will rise again.,

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland

As music, wafts the lover's sigh ;
And bids the yielding heart expand

In love's delicious ecstasy.
Fair star! though I be doomed to prove

That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain ;
Ah! still I feel 'tis sweet to love,

But sweeter to be loved again.

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SIR WALTER Scott, born 1771, died 1832. From “ Marmion."

WHERE shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?
Where through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die
Under the willow.

Eleu loro.
Soft shall be his pillow.

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