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What inwitte * could have thoughte,
Of a momente, with yeres of sorrowe,
Sholde breste † into stormes on the morrowe.
The brighte violette grewe,
Its riche fragraunce whilome on the aire :
All the sprite of swete love regnedde there.
Butte mie false love has fledde;
Crasedde S hearte and fame forlore | be to mee.
To digge my colde grave--thenne, to die.
* Understanding. || Utterly lost.
† Burst... f Deceived.
AIR-Black eyed Susan.
The sun was wearing down the lift,
The gloamin vapours fa'ing chill,
And lowne the breeze was on the hill; When pensive, Mary, down by Cartha stray'd, Lamenting Willie 'neath the gowan laid.
In this retired rural scene,
Far frae the paths o'toil and care,
And tasted bliss, I'll taste nae mair.
The siller firs that overhang
Yon fairy cove below the brae, Aft echoed to my Willie's sang
Saft as the blackbird's e'ening lay.
Now echo sleeps within the gloonay grot
Wi' Willie I hae waunnert here
When light was faded frae the sky; An' kentna what it was to fear,
When a' that held my heart was nigh ; E'en sable darkness has peculiar charms When lovers fondly sigh in ithers arms.
O! when in secret I review
Joys, memory shall never tine;
That wretchedness for life is mine. 0! I could every human ill sustain, But wanting Willie, comfort I disdain.
To me the vernal tints of spring
Can naught of happiness impart!
For hope is banish'd frae my heart;
The storm sweeps wildly through the sky,
And loud the angry waters roar, Our bark hath liv'd in tempest high,
But such as this ne'er brav'd before; Then warily, steadily, helmsman, steer, And we yet the headland cape may clear.
Round the light’ning wings its flight,
O’er our heads the thunders roll, But in the storm as in the fight,
No fear should shake the seaman's soul : Then warily, steadily, helmsman, steer, And we yet the headland cape may clear.
The storm is o'er, the sky serene,
The destin'd Port is now in view, Yet many a danger lurks unseen,
Let each then, to his post be true : O warily, steadily, helmsman, steer, And soon our Bark will the offing clear.
'Tis done at length we safely moor,
And transport fills each seaman's breast,
And be by dearest friends carest :
MARY CAMPBELL +.
AIR-Days o' Langsyne.
The primrose may blaw in the dawn o' the spring,
+ This Song was composed on learning that Mary Campbell was the name of Burns' “ Highland Mary," and although that immortal author has him. self pourtrayed in characters the most touching, his grief for the loss of his Mary, in the pathetic Songs of " The Highland lassie, O.” “ Mary in Heafen,” and others, so as to supersede the necessity of any other commemora. tive composition on the subject, yet it must be allowed that the present effu. sion is not altogether superfluous nor unimpressive. " My Highland lassie (says the Ayrshire Bard) was a warm-hearted, charming young creature as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the