The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me ; NAEBODY. I HAE a wife o' my ain, I am naebody's lord, I'll be slave to naebody; I'll be merry and free, MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.* SHE is a winsome wee thing, 1 Knocks. 2 There is peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or what I would call the feature-notes of the tune, that cramp the poet, and lay him under almost insuperable diffi culties. For instance, in the air, "My Wife's a wanton wee Thing," if a few lines, smooth and pretty, can be adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made extempore to it: and though, on further study, I might give you something more profound, yet it might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this random clink.-BURNS to Thomson. I never saw a fairer, And neist1 my heart I'll wear her, She is a winsome wee thing, The warld's wrack we share o't, DUNCAN GRAY.2 DUNCAN GRAY came here to woo, On blythe yule3 night when we were fou, Maggie coost her head fu' high, Duncan fleech'd,' and Duncan pray'd; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, · Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Time and chance are but a tide, Slighted love is sair to bide, 1 Next. 2 The foregoing I submit to your better judgment; acquit them or condemn them as seemeth good in your sight. "Duncan Gray" is that kind of lighthorse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature.-BURNS to Thomson. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick-as he grew well, Something in her bosom wrings, Duncan was a lad o' grace, Maggie's was a piteous case, Duncan couldna be her death, O POORTITH. TUNE "I HAD A HORSE." O POORTITH Cauld, and restless love, O why should fate sic pleasure have, This warld's wealth when I think on, Her e'en sae bonnie blue betray 1 Smothered. 2 Cheerful and merry. O wha can prudence think upon, O why, &c. How blest the humble cotter's fate! O why should fate sic pleasure have, GALLA WATER. THERE's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher;2 We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water. It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! LORD GREGORY.4 O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, Hobgoblins. 2 Marriage portion. 3 Bought. 4 A friend of Burns writes-"We had the song of 'Lord Gregory,' which I asked for to have an opportunity of calling on Burns to recite his ballad to that tune. He did recite it, and such was the effect that a dead silence ensued." An exile frae her father's ha', At least some pity on me shaw, Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove, Where first I own'd that virgin-love, How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare, and pardon my fause love, OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! WITH ALTERATIONS. Он, open the door, some pity to shew, Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, The frost, that freezes the life at my heart, The wan moon is setting behind the white wave, False friends, false love, farewell! for mair She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide; |