not the words of Burns: this contradiction is made openly, lest it should be thought that the bard had the bad taste to prefer this strain to dozens of others more simple, more impassioned, and more natural.]

I.

YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,

A place where body saw na; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine

The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness,

Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.

II.

Ye monarchs, take the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah!

Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,
An empress or sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms
I give and take with Anna!

III.

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!
Awa, thou pale Diana!
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray,
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night!
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write

My transports wi' my Anna!

IV.

The kirk and state may join and tell
To do sic things I maunna :
The kirk and state may gang to hell,
And I'll gae to my Anna.
She is the sunshine of my e'e,

To live but her I canna:
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna.

CLXXVIII.

MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O!

[This is the first song composed by Burns for the national collection of Thomson: it was written in October, 1792. "On reading over the Lea-rig," he says, "I immediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make nothing more of it than the following." The first and second verses were only sent: Burns added the third and last verse in December.]

I.

WHEN o'er the hill the eastern star
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field
Return sae dowf and weary, O;
Down by the burn, where scented birks1
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie, O!

II.

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O,
If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie, O!
Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
And I were ne'er sae weary, O,

I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

III.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; At noon the fisher seeks the glen,

Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin gray,

It makes my heart sae cheery, O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie, O!

CLXXIX.

TO MARY CAMPBELL.

["In my very early years," says Burns to Thomson, "when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it might have been easy in after times to have given them a polish, yet that polish, to me, would have defaced the legend of my heart, so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race." The heroine of this early composition was Highland Mary.]

She became

a mariner, who lived in Greenock. acquainted with the poet while on service at the castle of Montgomery, and their strolls in the woods and their roaming trystes only served to deepen and settle their affections. Their love had much of the solemn as well as of the romantic: on the day of their separation they plighted their mutual faith by the exchange of Bibles: they stood with a runningstream between them, and lifting up water in their hands vowed love while woods grew and waters ran. The Bible which the poet gave was elegantly bound: "Ye shall not swear by my name falsely" was written in the bold Mauchline hand of Burns, and underneath was his name, and his mark as a freemason. They parted to meet no more: Mary Campbell was carried off suddenly by a burning fever, and the first intimation which the poet had of her fate was when, it is said, he visited her friends to meet her on her return from Cowal, whither she had gone to make arrangements for her marriage. The Bible is in the keeping of her relations: we have seen a lock of her hair; it was very long and very bright, and of a hue deeper than the flaxen. The song was written for Thomson's work.]

I.

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 unfaulds her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last farewell
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

II.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their 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!

III.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;

And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels 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.

IV.

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And clos'd for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me sae kindly!

And mouldering now in silent dust, That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

CLXXXIII.

AULD ROB MORRIS.

[The starting lines of this song are from one of no little merit in Ramsay's collection: the old strain is sarcastic; the new strain is tender: it was written for Thomson.]

I

THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld

men;

He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine.

II.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

But oh! she's an heiress-auld 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 must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

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.

V.

O had she but been of a lower degree,

I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me! O how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express!

CLXXXIV.

DUNCAN GRAY.

[This Duncan Gray of Burns has nothing in common with the wild old song of that name, save the first line, and a part of the third; neither has it any share in the sentiments of an earlier strain, with the same title, by the same hand. It was written for the work of Thomson.]