Gied me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-drift,
Her throat is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest

That e'er the sun shone on;
That e'er the sun shone on,
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying,
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet;

Her voice is low and sweet,

And she's all the world to me;

And for bonnie Annie Laurie

I'd lay me doun and dee.

THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724. Traquair is on the bank of the water or river of Quair, in Peebleshire.

HEAR me, ye nymphs and ev'ry swain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ;
Though thus I languish and complain,
Alas! she ne'er believes me.

My vows and sighs, like silent air,
Unheeded, never move her;
The bonnie bush aboon Traquair,
'Twas there I first did love her.

That day she smiled, and made me glad,
No maid seem'd ever kinder;

I thought myself the luckiest lad,
So sweetly there to find her.

I tried to soothe my am'rous flame
In words that I thought tender:
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame;
I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flies the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonnie bush bloom'd fair in May,
Its sweets I'll aye remember;
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.

Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my strains,
Why thus should Peggy grieve me?
Oh, make her partner in my pains,
Then let her smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
My passion no more tender;
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.

DOUN THE BURN, DAVIE.

ROBERT Crawford.

WHEN trees did bud and fields were green, And broom bloom'd fair to see;

When Mary was complete fifteen,

And love laugh'd in her ec,

Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move

To speak her mind thus free :
Gang doun the burn, Davie love,
An' I will follow thee.

Now Davie did each lad surpass
That dwelt on this burnside;
And Mary was the bonniest lass,
Just meet to be a bride:

Her cheeks were rosie, red and white;
Her een were bonnie blue;

Her looks were like the morning bright,
Her lips like dropping dew.

As doun the burn they took their way
An' through the flowery dale,
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,

An' love was aye the tale.

With, "Mary, when shall we return,

Sic pleasures to renew ?"

Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the burn,
An' aye will follow you."

This song first appeared in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany." The last stanza was added by Burns, who was informed by the tradition of his neighbourhood, that the air was the composition of one David Maigh, keeper of the bloodhounds to the Laird of Riddell in Roxburghshire.

ONE DAY I HEARD MARY SAY.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany."

ONE day I heard Mary say,

How shall I leave thee?

Stay, dearest Adonis, stay; why wilt thou grieve me?
Alas! my fond heart would break, if thou should leave me ;
I'll live and die for thy sake, yet never leave thee!

Say, lovely Adonis, say, has Mary deceived thee?
Did e'er her young heart betray, love, that has grieved thee?
My constant mind ne'er shall stray; thou may believe me :
I'll love thee, lad, night and day, and never leave thee!

Adonis, my charming youth, what can relieve thee?
Can Mary thy anguish soothe? this breast shall receive thee.
My passion can ne'er decay, never deceive thee;
Delight shall drive pain away, pleasure revive thee.

But leave thee, leave thee, lad, how shall I leave thee?
Oh! that thought makes me sad; I'll never leave thee!
Where would my Adonis fly? Why does he grieve me?
Alas! my poor heart will die, if I should leave thee.

"One day I heard Mary say' is a fine song," says Burns to Thomson; "but for consistency's sake, alter the name of Adonis. Were there ever such banns published as a purpose of marriage between Adonis and Mary?"

MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany," 1724.

Love never more shall give me pain,

My fancy's fixed on thee;

Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,
My Peggie, if thou dee.

Thy beauties did such pleasure give,

Thy love's so true to me;
Without thee I shall never live,
My dearie, if thou dee.

If fate shall tear thee from my breast,
How shall I lonely stray!

In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,
In sighs the silent day.

I ne'er can so much virtue find,

Nor such perfection see:
Then I'll renounce all womankind,
My Peggie, after thee.

No new-blown beauty fires my heart

With Cupid's raving rage ;

But thine, which can such sweets impart,

Must all the world engage.

'Twas this that, like the morning sun,

Gave joy and life to me;

And when its destined day is done,

With Peggy let me dee.

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,
And in such pleasures share;
Ye who its faithful flames approve,
With pity view the fair;

Restore my Peggie's wonted charms,

Those charms so dear to me;

Oh, never rob them from those arms-
I'm lost if Peggy dee.

The beautiful air to which this song is sung has been traced back in мs. to the year 1692; but is probably much older.

JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE.

From the "Tea-Table Miscellany."

By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining,
Aft cried he, Oh, hey! maun I still live pining
Mysel' thus away, and daurna discover

To my bonny Hay that I am her lover!

Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes stranger;
If she's not my bride, my days are nae langer;
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture,—
Maybe, ere we part, my vows may content her.

She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora,
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good morrow;
The sward of the mead enamell'd with daisies
Looks wither'd and dead when twined of her graces.

But if she appears where verdure invites her,

The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter;
'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flowing;
Her smiles and bright eyes set my spirits a-glowing.
The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded,
Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded;
I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye;

For a' my desire is John Hay's bonnie lassie.

Mr. Chambers states that there is a tradition in Roxburghshire that this song was written by a carpenter or joiner in honour of a daughter of John Hay, first Marquis of Tweeddale.

JOHN HAY'S BONNIE MARY.

From Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of ancient and traditional

Scottish songs.

As I gaed down an' farther down,

An' down into a cellar,

There I saw the bonniest lass

Was writing a letter.

She was writing an' inditing,

And losing her colour,
But ilka kiss of her mou'
Cost me a dollar.