themselves, or by contrast with what precedes them, than the lines

"Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom."

But the song has faults, and those, too, considerable ones. We doubt whether the reason assigned for loving "yon humble broom bowers," is not too exclusively confined to their connexion with the poet's mistress. Surely we

prefer the glens of our native land, with their broom and their breckan, before the rich regions of the myrtle and orange, not merely because they are the haunt of a beloved woman, but also because they are the home of our fathers and kindred, the seat of knowledge and piety, the domicile of liberty and peace. If it be said that " Jean," in her character and virtues, is to be regarded as the type of all those excellencies, we think the idea is somewhat strained and obscure.

We are certain, however, that if this allusion was admissible in the first verse, it is poorly iniroduced, and mawkishly expressed in the conclusion of the second. The conceit of the free Caledonian wandering about his mountains with only "love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean," is equally cold and commonplace, and wholly unsuitable to the simple and manly character which the song should sustain.

We are naturally led from this last song to notice some of those which are more exclusively devoted to the tender or gentle affections. We shall give the precedence to "Highland Mary."

"Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie !

There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

"How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;

As underneath the fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

"Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging oft to meet again
We tore ourselves asunder:
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary.

"O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I oft hae kiss'd sae fondly;
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust
The heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary."

We feel this to be, indeed admirable, and fresh from the heart; and if one or two blemishes occur to us in style or versification, the sacredness of a love and sorrow so beautiful and so sincere, deter us from whispering a word of aught but sympathy and reverence.

What we have next to notice is every way more open to criticism.

"There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale o' auld men.
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

"She's as fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;
She's as sweet as the evening amang the new hay;
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

"But oh! she's an heiress, and Robin's a laird,
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed
The wounds I maun hide that will soon be my dead.

"The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

"O had she but been of a lower degree,

I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me!
O, how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!"

We much admire the two first verses, which are well suited in style and sentiment to a very beautiful and pathetic air; but we think that the rest of the song might, on the whole, have been dispensed with, or ought, at least, to have been remodelled.

"A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,

The wounds I maun hide that will soon be my dead;"

is clumsy and incongruous. "I sigh as my heart it would burst in my breast," does not please us, and seems to enfeeble a stanza that might have been very good. Somehow or other, a "sigh" is not at all a poetical thing, according to our Scotch customs or pronunciations. The last verse is positively bad. The question in proportion, or the rule of three, stated in the concluding lines,

66

"O how past describing had then been my bliss,
As now my distraction no words can express!"

is much too formal and calculating, and is destitute of any felicity of thought or language.

Of the same mixed character is the following:

"This warld's wealth, when I think on
It's pride and a' the lave o't;
Fie, fie, on silly coward man

That he should be the slave o't!
O why, &c.

"Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray
That she repays my passion;
But prudence is her o'erword aye,
She talks o' rank and fashion.
O why, &c.

“O wha can prudence think upon,
And sic a lassie by him?
O what can prudence think upon,
And sae in love as I am?
O why, &c.

"How blest the humble cottar's fate!
He woos his simple dearie;
The silly bogles, wealth and state,
Can never make them eerie.
O why," &c.

We like the first verse of this song; and, although the personification of Fate, taking "pleasure" in untwining life's dearest bands, is not in a style either of Doric sim. plicity or of Attic elegance, the chorus is redeemed by the touching, though perhaps not very coherent question : Why sae sweet a flower as Love should depend on Fortune's shining? The rest of the song we think is, on the whole, very inferior. Nothing can well be worse than

The next verse, "O wha can prudence think upon?" is vigorous and characteristic, though scarcely poetical. The song of "Gala Water" is simple and successful. The last verse has much in it of earnestness and beauty.

"There's braw braw lads on Yarrow braes.
That wander through the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
Can match the lads o' Gala water,

"But there is ane, a secret ane,

Aboon them a' I lo'e him better;
And I'll be his and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Gala water.

"Altho' his daddie was nae laird,

And tho' I hae nae muckle tocher,
Yet rich in kindness, truest love,

We'll tent our flocks by Gala water.

"It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,

O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!"

The living influences of those localities, that dwells in love's remembrance as the scenes of past happiness, or the lodestars of present solicitude, are fertile themes of lyrical poetry, and Burns well understood and familiarly availed himself of their power. Among the very sweetest of all his compositions is the following example of this topic, which opens in the most natural and touching strain; and though not altogether equal, has much of simple beauty throughout :

"Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

"There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

"I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air: