GLAUD. Then, since my master orders, I obey. This bonny foundling, ae clear morn of May, Close by the lee-side of my door I found, All sweet and clean, and carefully hapt round In infant-weeds of rich and gentle make. What could they be thought I did thee forsake? Wha, warse than brutes, cou'd leave exposed to air Sae much of innocence, sae sweetly fair, Sae helpless young? - For she appeared to me Only about twa towmonds auld to be. I took her in my arms, the bairnie smiled With sic a look wad made a savage mild. I hid the story, and she passed sincesyne As a poor orphan, and a niece of mine. Nor do I rue my care about the wean, Then it was I that saved her infant life; I heard with horror, and with trembling dread, I kept my journey, lighted by the moon ; GLAUD (with tears of joy running down his beard). PATIE. "T is now a crime to doubt! My joys are full, With due obedience to my parent's will. Sir, with paternal love survey her charms, And blame me not for rushing to her arms; She's mine by vows, and wou'd, tho' still unknown, Have been my wife, when I my vows durst own. SYMON. That's the best news I've heard this twenty year! New day breaks up, rough times begin to clear! GLAUD. God save the king! and save Sir William lang, To enjoy their ain, and raise the shepherd's sang! ROGER. Wha winna dance, wha will refuse to sing? What shepherd's whistle winna lilt the spring? BAULDY. I'm friends with Mause! With very Madge I'm gree'd ; Although they skelpit me when woodly fleid! MADGE. Lang may he live!—and, Bauldy, learn to steek Your gab a wee, and think before ye speak; And never ca' her auld that wants a man, Else ye may yet some witch's fingers ban. This day I'll with the youngest of you rant, And brag for ay that I was ca'd the aunt Of our young lady, my dear bonny bairn! PEGGY. No other name I'll ever for you learn. And, my good nurse, how shall I gratefu' be For a' thy matchless kindness done for me? MAUSE. The flowing pleasure of this happy day Does fully all I can require repay. SIR WILLIAM. To faithful Symon, and, kind Glaud, to you And to your heirs I give in endless feu The mailens ye possess, as justly due, For acting like kind fathers to the pair, Who have enough besides, and these can spare. Mause, in my house in calmness close your days, With naught to do but sing your Maker's praise. OMNES. The Lord of heaven return your honor's love, Confirm your joys, and a' your blessings roove! PATIE (presenting Roger to Sir William). Sir, here's my trusty friend, that always shared My bosom-secrets, ere I was a laird. Glaud's daughter Janet-Jenny, think nae shame!Raised and maintains in him a lover's flame. Lang was he dumb, at last he spak and won, And hopes to be our honest uncle's son ; Be pleased to speak to Glaud for his consent, That nane may wear a face of discontent. GLAUD. You crowd your bounties, sir!-What can we say, But that we're dyvours that can ne'er repay?Whate'er your honor wills I shall obey. Roger, my daughter with my blessing take, And still our master's right your business make; Please him, be faithful, and this auld gray head Shall nod with quietness down among the dead. ROGER. I ne'er was good at speaking a' my days, Or ever loo'd to make o'er great a frase; But for my master, father, and my wife, I will employ the cares of all my life. SIR WILLIAM. My friends, I'm satisfied you'll all behave, The maze of life sometimes looks dark and wild, PEGGY. When you demand, I readiest should obey; I'll sing you ane, the newest that I hae. TUNE. SANG XXI. My Paty is a lover gay, His mind is never muddy, His breath is sweeter than new hay, His face is fair and ruddy ; His shape is handsome, middle size; He's comely in his wauking; The shining of his een surprise; "T is heaven to hear him tauking. Last night I met him on a bawk Where yellow corn was growing; There mony a kindly word he spak, That set my heart a glowing. He kissed, and vowed he wad be mine, And loo'd me best of ony; That gars me like to sing sinsyne, O corn-riggs are bonny! Let lasses of a silly mind Refuse what maist they're wanting, Since we for yielding were designed, We chastely should be granting: Then I'll comply and marry Pate, And syne my cockernony He's free to touzle air and late, Where corn-riggs are bonny. [Exeunt omnes.] Rustic Ballads, etc., for May. GRAVES'S "BALLAD TO THE BIRDS.” AGAIN the balmy zephyr blows, And tunes his note to love. Ye gentle warblers, hither fly, And shun the noontide heat; Here freely hop from spray to spray, Here rove and sing the live-long day; Amidst this cool, translucent rill, That trickles down the glade, Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill, And revel in the shade. No school-boy rude, to mischief prone, E'er shows his ruddy face, Or twangs his bow, or hurls a stone, Hither the vocal thrush repairs, Secure the linnet sings, The goldfinch dreads no flimsy snares Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt, And round my friendly grotto chaunt Let not the harmless red-breast fear, My trees for you, ye artless tribe, 0, let me thus your friendship bribe! Come! feed without reserve. BRETON'S "PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.” In the merry month of May, With a troop of damsels playing, When anon by a wood side, Much ado there was, God wot; He said he had loved her long: Till they do for good and all. Then with many a pretty oath, Love, that had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded; And Phillida with garlands gay Was made the Lady of the May. BLOOMFIELD'S "LUCY;" Yet, so lightly on its way, The pathway flowers that bending meet Why, then, Lucy, why delay? Since there thy smiles, my charming maid, Are with unfeignéd rapture seen, To beauty be the homage paid! Come, claim the triumph of the green. Here's my hand, come, come away; Share the merry holiday. A promise, too, my Lucy made (And shall my heart its claim resign?) That ere May flowers again should fade Her heart and hand should both be mine. Hark ye, Lucy, this is May; Love shall crown our holiday. STREET'S "EARLY GARDEN." As we tread WHEN the light flourish of the bluebird sounds, We drop the seed. The robin stops his work And the thick, midge-like blossoms round diffuse HEYWOOD'S "SHEPHERD'S SONG." WE that have known no greater state |