The ruffian frown'd, and stood aghast,
But not appall'd-then rudely rais'd
The trembling fair one, while he cast
A blighting look around, then gazed

On this drooping flower, whose slender form,
Bent like a lily to the blast,

Too gentle for the warring storm,

And scenes like these which round her pass'd.

Her head grew giddy, bodings wild

Throbb'd quickly through her maddening brain; My husband!—then she cried, my child! In heaven alone our hopes remain.

While lashing waves their fury spent,
Around the cave in angry foam;

She mark'd the ruffian's dire intent,
To ingulf her in a watery tomb.

Who open'd the storm-beat grating wide,
Deep rushing waters round them throng;
He flung her on the foamy tide,

Howling the craggy rocks among.

She started-shriek'd-'twas but a dream!
In slumbers light her Henry slept;
Her baby smiled-the morning's beam
Shone bright on all: for joy she wept.

EDITOR.

NURSERY CHANT.-LOGIE O' BUCHAN. 177

In the

NURSERY CHANT.

gowany meadow there Fine flowers in the valley;

grows a grove,

And a bonny bird sings frae the boughs above,
Where the rose waves o'er the lily.

His lightsome trillings of glee were heard,
Fine flowers in the valley;

By the tod beeking lown in the greeny sward,
Where the rose nods o'er the lily.

The bird lap down on the bloomy breer,

Fine flowers in the valley;

Nor thought tod-lowrie lay sae near,

Where the rose bent o'er the lily.

Whase heart's blood sprents thy snaw-white bloom,
Quo' the red rose to the lily?

Oh! the bird's that sang frae the boughs, perfume
Where thy blush-leaves strew the valley.

O LOGIE O' Buchan, O Logie the laird,
They've ta'en awa Jamie, that delved in the yard,
Wha play'd on the pipe, wi' the viol sae sma';
They've ta'en awa Jamie, the flower o' them a'.

EDITOR.

He said, think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa;
He said, think na lang, lassie, though I gang awa;
For simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa,
And I'll come and see thee in spite o' them a.'

Sandy has ousen, has gear, and has kye;
A house and a hadden, and siller forbye:
But I'd tak my ain lad, wi' his staff in his hand,
Before I'd hae him, wi' his houses and land.

My daddie looks sulky, my minnie looks sour,
They frown upon Jamie because he is poor:
Though I lo'e them as weel as a daughter should do,
They're nae hauf sae dear to me, Jamie, as you.

I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel,
And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel;
He had but ae saxpence, he brak it in twa,
And gi'ed me the hauf o't when he gade awa.

Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa,
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa;
The simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa,
And ye'll come and see me in spite o' them a'.

The above song, upon the authority of Mr. Buchan of Peterhead, is the composition of Mr. George Halket, and was written by him while he was a Schoolmaster at Rathen, Aberdeenshire, about the year 1736. His poetry was chiefly Jacobitical, and long remained familiar amongst the peasantry in that quarter of the country: one of the best known of these, at the present day, is "Wherry, Whigs

DE'IL TAK THE wars.

179

awa man. In 1746, Mr. Halket wrote a dialogue betwixt George II. and the Devil," which falling into the Duke of Cumberland's hands, while on his march to Culloden, he offered one hundred pounds reward for the person or the head of its author. Mr. Halket died in the year 1756.

The Logie here mentioned, is in one of the adjoining parishes (Crimond), where Mr. Halket then resided; and the hero of the piece, was a James Robertson, gardener at the place of Logie. The original Ballad, commences thus:

O woe to Kinmundy, Kinmundy the Laird,
Wha's tane awa Jamie, that delved i' the yard,
Wha play'd on the pipe, an' the viol sae sma',
Kinmundy's ta'en Jamie, the flower o' them a.'

DE'IL TAK THE WARS.

DE'IL tak the wars that hurried Billy from me,
Who to love me just had sworn;

They made him captain, sure, to undo me!
Woe's me! he'll ne'er return.

A thousand loons abroad will fight him,
He from thousands ne'er will run:

Day and night I did invite him,

To stay at home from sword and gun.

I used alluring graces,

With many kind embraces,

Now sighing, then crying, tears dropping fall;
And had he my soft arms

Preferr'd to war's alarms,

By love grown mad, without the help of God,
I fear in my fit I had granted all.

I washed and patched to make me look provoking,
Snares that they told me would catch the men;
And on my head a huge commode sat poking,
Which made me show as tall again:

For a new gown, too, I paid muckle money,
Which with golden flowers did shine;
My love well might think me gay and bonny,
No Scots lass was e'er so fine.

My petticoat I spotted,

Fringe, too, with thread I knotted,

Lace shoes, and silk hose garter'd full o'er knee;
But, oh! the fatal thought,

To Billy these are nought;

Who rode to towns, and rifled with dragoons,
When he, silly loon, might have married me.

In one of Walsh the London Music-seller's early publications, about the year 1700, entitled, " A Collection of the Choicest Songs and Dialogues, composed by the most eminent masters of the age," &c. the foregoing Song occurs, and is thus introduced upon the reader's notice: "De'il tak the wars," a Song, in A Wife for any Man,' the words by Mr. Thomas Durffey, set to music by Mr. Charles Powell, sung by Mrs. Cross, and exactly engraved by Mr. Thomas Cross." &c. In turning over an old MS. collection of Scottish airs, in our possession, we find one of them entitled, "Foul fa' the wars,” which inclines us to think, that some earlier Song than the foregoing, perhaps of Scottish extraction, has been picked up by Durfey, and altered to what we now find it.

Tom Durfey (as he usually is styled) was a facetious English writer, born, according to one authority, in France, and by another in Exeter. He was author of several Comedies, besides numerous Poems and Songs, published betwixt 1672 and 1721. A large collection of which, in 1719, were printed in 6 volumes, 12mo. under the title of " Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy." He died in the year 1723.