And see his gentle spirit comes To shew me on my way; Surpriz'd, nae doubt, I still am here, I come, I come, my Jamie dear; She said; and soon a deadly pale Her waefu' heart forgat to beat, I lament my inability to name the author of this sweet song. It has been some six-and-thirty years before the public; and if it be written with an English pen, it is written with a Scottish spirit. Johnson's Musical Museum became its first sanctuary, and it soon won its way to public favour. It is seldom indeed that songs of this touching and simple kind become public favourites. The stream of sorrow which glides along so smooth and so deep fails to glitter and attract as it flows. I LO'E NAE A LADDIE BUT ANE. I lo'e nae a laddie but ane, He lo'es nae a lassie but me; A pair of mittens of green- My mither's ay making a phrase, We can weel do the thing when we're young, Some person informed Burns, that "I lo'e nae a laddie but ane" was written by " Mr. Clunie"-whoever wrote it, wrote a capital song. I have seen it printed with the addition of four new verses, the work seemingly of a very inferior pen, and to which the name of Macneill was added. Macneill, indeed, could bring the lyric ease of language necessary for the attempt, but he could not bring the peculiar life and naïveté of the original words. The last four lines of the first verse are in the most lucky spirit of true love and innocence, and the argument by which she subdues her mother is unanswerable. I wish I could be sure of the name of the author: though Mr. Clunie is mentioned by Burns, I am not satisfied of his authorship; the poet was no anxious inquirer, and the song is printed in Ritson with the initials "I. D." attached to it. AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE. And ye shall walk in silk attire, And siller hae to spare, Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, Nor think o' Donald mair. O wha wad buy a silken gown, The mind whose meanest wish is pure Far dearest is to me, And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me down and die: For I have vowed a virgin's vow, And he has gi'en to me his heart, His mind and manners wan my heart, It wad be waur than theft. For langest life can ne'er repay The love he bears to me And ere I'm forced to break my faith, This is not an old song; yet its sweetness and beauty and popularity have not induced the author to claim it. It made its first appearance about six-and-thirty years. ago, and has maintained a place among the national songs, after submitting to a few unimportant emendations. The name of the lover was Donald at first-and so let it remain: but like Sandy in our lowland songs, it personates a people rather than an individual, and all such names should be avoided in either tender or pathetic poetry. LOGIE OF BUCHAN. O Logie of Buchan, it's Logie the laird, - Keep up yere heart, lassie, though I'm gaun awa'- Though Sandie has horses and houses and land, And Jamie has nought but his heart and his hand, Yet his look is my life, and his wish is my law ;They have ta'en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'! My daddie looks sadly, my mother looks sour ;- I sit in the sunshine and spin on my wheel, Popular belief assigns this song to Lady Ann Lindsay; and it is every way worthy of the accomplished au |