Waefu' want and hunger fley1 me,
Glowerin by the hallan en';
Sair I fecht them at the door,
But ay I'm eerie they come ben.
Ance crowdie, &c.

THERE'S NEWS, LASSES.

THERE's news, lasses, news,
Gude news I have to tell,
There's a boat fu' o' lads
Come to our town to sell.
The wean wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod,3
An' I'll no gang to my bed
Until I get a nod.

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she,
Do what you can,
I'll nae gang to my bed

Till I get a man.
The wean, &c.

I hae as gude a craft rig
As made o' yird and stane;
And waly fa' the ley-crap,
For I maun till't again.
The wean, &c.

SCROGGAM.

THERE was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen,
Scroggam ;

She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen,
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever,
Scroggam;

The priest o' the parish fell in anither;
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

1 Scare.

2 Fought.

8 Pillow.

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE, ETC. 443

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither,
Scroggam;

That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither;
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me,
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum.

FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE.'

FRAE the friends and land I love,
Driven by Fortune's felly2 spite,
Frae my best belov'd I rove,
Never mair to taste delight;
Never mair maun hope to find

Ease frae toil, relief frae care;
When remembrance wracks the mind,
Pleasures but unveil despair.

Brightest climes shall mirk appear,
Desert ilka blooming shore,
Till the Fates, nae mair severe,
Friendship, love, and

peace

Till Revenge, wi' laurel'd head

restore;

Bring our banished hame again;

And ilk loyal, bonnie lad

Cross the seas and win his ain.

THE TEARS I SHED.3

THE tears I shed must ever fall;
I mourn not for an absent swain,
For thought may past delights recall,
And parted lovers meet again.

I weep not for the silent dead,

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er,
And those they lov'd their steps shall tread,
And death shall join to part no more.

Burns, in his notes on the "Musical Museum," says of this song, "I added the last four lines by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem such as it is." It has been suggested by his editors, that Burns mended his song as the Highlander mended his gun, by giving to it a new stock, a new lock, and a new barrel.

2 Relentless.

3 The first four lines of the last stanza were added by Burns; the song being the composition of Miss Cranstoun, afterwards the wife of Dugald Stewart.

Tho' boundless oceans roll'd between,
If certain that his heart is near,
A conscious transport glads each scene,
Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear.
E'en when by Death's cold hand remov'd,
We mourn the tenant of the tomb,
To think that even in death he lov'd,
Can gild the horrors of the gloom.

But bitter, bitter are the tears

Of her who slighted love bewails; No hope her dreary prospect cheers, No pleasing melancholy hails. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy: The prop, she lean'd on, pierc'd her side; The flame, she fed, burns to destroy.

In vain does memory renew,

The hours once ting'd in transport's dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view, And turns the thought to agony. Even conscious virtue cannot cure The pangs to every feeling due : Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor, To steal a heart, and break it too!

No cold approach, no alter'd mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,

He made me blest—and broke my heart!
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn,
Neglected, and neglecting all,
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn,
The tears I shed must ever fall.

THE TWA HERDS.1

Blockheads with reason wicked wits abhor,

But Fool with Fool is barbarous civil war.-POPE.

O A'ye pious godly flocks,

Weel fed in pastures orthodox,

Wha now will keep you frae the fox,

Or worrying tykes ?2

Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks,3
About the dykes ?

The twa best herds in a' the wast,
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast,
These five and twenty simmers past,
O, dool to tell!

Hae had a bitter black out-cast

Atween themsel.

O, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell,
How could you raise so vile a bustle,
Ye'll see how New-light herds will whistle,
And think it fine!

The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle,
Sin' I ha'e min'.

O, Sirs! whae'er wad hae expeckit
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit,
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit,
To wear the plaid,

But by the brutes themselves eleckit
To be their guide.

What flock wi' Moodie's flock could rank,
Sae hale and hearty every shank,
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank

He let them taste;

Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank,-
O' sic a feast!

1 The Twa "Herds" were the minister of Riccarton, and the assistantminister of Kilmarnock, whose controversial animosity burst out in blows during a walk home after a "Sacrament" sermon Burns recorded the feat of arms in a "burlesque lamentation," which, as he informs us, with a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, met with a roar of applause. Burns gave a copy to a friend, and professed ignorance of the writer. Stray sheep and old ewes.

2 Dogs.

The thummart,' wil'-cat, brock, and tod,"
Weel kend his voice thro' a' the wood,
He smell'd their ilka hole and road,
Baith out and in,

And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid,
And sell their skin.

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale,
His voice was heard thro' muir and dale,
He kend the Lord's sheep, ilka tail,
O'er a' the height,

And saw gin they were sick or hale,
At the first sight.

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub,
Or nobly fling the gospel club,

And New-light herds, could nicely drub,
Or pay their skin;

Could shake them owre the burning dub,3
Or heave them in.

Sic twa-O! do I live to see't,
Sic famous twa should disagreet,
An' names, like “villain," "hypocrite,"
Ilk ither gi'en,

While New-light herds wi' laughin' spite,
Say "neither's lien" !

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld,
There's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul,*
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,

We trust in thee,

That thou wilt work them, het and cauld,
Till they agree.

Consider, Sirs, how we're beset;
There's scarce a new herd that we get,
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set
I winna name;

I hope frae Heaven to see them yet

In fiery flame.

1 Pole-cat.

2 Badger and fox.

3 Pond.

4 Shallow.