WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.

WHEN I upon thy bosom lean,

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain,

I glory in the sacred ties

That made us ane, wha ance were twain:

A mutual flame inspires us baith,

The tender look, the melting kiss: Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, But only gie us change o' bliss.

Hae I a wish? it's a' for thee;

I ken thy wish is me to please;
Our moments pass sae smooth away,
That numbers on us look and gaze,
Weel pleas'd they see our happy days,
Nor envy's sel find aught to blame;
And ay when weary cares arise,

Thy bosom still shall be my hame.

I'll lay me there, and take my rest,
And if, that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,
And beg her not to drap a tear:
Hae I a joy? its a' her ain;
United still her heart and mine;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,
That's twin'd till death shall them disjoin.]

Leader-Haughs and Varrow.

THERE is in several collections the old song of "Leader-Haughs and Yarrow." It seems to have been the work of one of our itinerant minstrels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion of his song, "Minstrel Burn."*

[Who Minstrel Burn was is a question which antiquaries are unable to solve: that he was 1 borderer seems probable from the subject of his song, and that he had not a little of the poet's spirit his song survives to prove. The first and last verses are very beautiful

I.

WHEN Phœbus bright, the azure skies
With golden rays enlight'neth,
He makes all Nature's beauties rise,
Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick'neth:
Amongst all those he makes his choice,
And with delight goes thorow,
With radiant beams and silver streams
O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.

II.

When Aries the day and night

In equal length divideth, Anld frosty Saturn takes his flight, Nae langer he abideth; Then Flora Queen, with mantle green, Casts aff her former sorrow, And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel', In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.

III.

Pan playing on his aiten reed,
And shepherds him attending,
Do here resort their flocks to feed,
The hills and haughs commending.
With cur and kent upon the bent,
Sing to the sun, good-morrow,
And swear nae fields mair pleasure yields
Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.

They appear to have been produced when "the minstrel was infirm and old;" and seem to have been intended as an si dition and conclusion to his song of "Leader Haughs and Yarrow."]

THE WORDS OF BURN THE VIOLER.†

WHAT, shall my viol silent be,
Or leave her wonted scriding;
But choice some sadder elegie,
No sports and mirth deriding.

It must be fain with lower strain
Than it was wont beforrow,
To sound the praise of Leader-haughs
And the bonny banks of Yarrow.

But floods have overflown the banks,
The greenish haughs disgracing,
And trees in woods grow thin in ranks,
About the fields defacing.

For water waxes, wood doth waind,
More, if I could for sorrow,
In rural verse I could rehearse

Of Leader-Haughs and Yarrow.

But sighs and sobs o'erset my breath,
Sore saltish tears forth sending,
All things sublunar here on earth
Are subject to an ending.

So must my song, though somewhat long,
Though late at even and morrow,
I'll sigh and sing sweet Leader-Haughs,
And the bonny banks of Yarrow.

This is no my ain House.

THE first half-stanza is old, the rest is Ramsay's. The old words are

O THIS is no my ain house,
My ain house, my ain house;
This is no my ain house,
I ken by the biggin o't.

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks,
My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks;
Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks,
And pan-cakes the riggin o't.

This is no my ain wean,

My ain wean, my ain wean;
This is no my ain wean,
I ken by the greetie o't.

I'll tak the curchie aff my head,
Aff my head, aff my head;
I'll tak the curchie aff my head,
And row't about the feetie o't.

A' that I hae endur'd, lassie, my dearie, Here in thy arms is cur'd, lassie, lie near me, Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me; me. Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie, lie near

These words have a Jacobite hue: the song was composed, it is said, by one of the Scottish exiles on returning to his family after the act of oblivion.]

The Gaberlunzie Man.*

THE Gaberlunzie Man is supposed to commemorate an intrigue of James the Vth. Mr. Callander of Craigforth published, some year ago, an edition of "Christ's Kirk on the Green," and the "Gaberlunzie Man," wit notes critical and historical. James the thi said to have been fond of Gosford, in Aberiadi Parish, and that it was suspected by his contemporaries that, in his frequent excursions to that part of the country, he had other purpose in view besides golfing and archery. Three favourite ladies, Sandilands, Weir, and OF

Laddie, lie near me.

THIS song is by Dr. Blacklock.

[The chief fault of the lyric compositions of this poet is want of simplicity: with how much ease Burns and the old minstrels commenced their strains, compared to the starting stanza of "Laddie, lie near me."

HARK, the loud tempest shakes the earth to
its centre,
[venture;
How mad were the task on a journey to
How dismal's my prospect, of life I am weary,
O! listen, my love, I beseech thee to hear me,
Hear me, hear me, in tenderness hear me;
All the long winter night, laddie, lie near me.

weather,

Nights though protracted, tho' piercing the
[gether;
Yet summer was endless when we were to-
Now since thy absence I feel most severely
Joy is extinguished and being is dreary,

Dreary, dreary, painful and dreary; [me.
All the long winter night, laddie, lie near

With far more natural ease the author of the old verses glides into his subject.

LANG hae we parted been, lassie, my dearie,
Now we are met again, lassie, lie near me,
Near me, near me, lassie, lie near me;
Lang hast thou lien thy lane, lassie lie near me.

others in the neighbourhood), were occasional visited by their royal and gallant admirer, whic gave rise to the following satirical advice to his Majesty, from Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon. +

Sow not yere seed on Sandilands,
Spend not yere strength in Weir,
And ride not on yere Oliphants,
For gawing o' yere gear.

[Of the nature of his Majesty's nocturnal excursions this, and the ballad beginning

There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was bound, will fully inform the reader; he indulged too in other rambles of a martial nature, of which the border still carries the tokens. James was at once a poet, a warrior, and a musician. Ofts skill in ballad-making, "The Gaberlunzie Man will be a lasting record.

THE pawky auld carle came o'er the lea,
Wi' many good e'ens and days to me,
Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie,

Will ye lodge a silly poor man?
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down ayont the ingle he sat;
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap,

And cadgily ranted and sang.

O wow! quo' he, were I as free
As first when I saw this countrie,

* [A Wallet-man, or tinker, who appears to have been furmerly a Jack-of-all-trades.]

† [Sir David was Lion King-at-Arms, under James V.]

How blyth and merry wad I be !
And I wad never think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slee twa togither were say'n',

When wooing they were sae thrang.

And O! quo' he, and ye were as black
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat,
'Tis I wad lay thee on my back,

And awa' wi' me thou shou'd gang.
And O! quo' she, an' I were as white,
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
I'd cleed me braw, and lady like,

And awa' with thee I'd gang.

Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise awee before the cock,
And wilily they shot the lock,

And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claise;
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes,

To speer for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hand, cry'd, dulefu' day!

For some of our gear will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that cou'd be mist,
She danc'd her lane, cry'd, praise be blest!

I have lodg'd a leal poor man.

Since naething's awa', as we can learn,
The kirn 's to kirn, and milk to earn,
Gae but the house, lass, and wauken my bairn,

And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gade where the daughter lay,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife did say,

She's aff with the Gaberlunzie-man.

O fy! gar ride, and fy! gar rin,
And haste ye find these traitors again;
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain,

The wearifu' Gaberlunzie-man.
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a foot,
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit,
She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit,
But ay did curse and did ban.

Meantime far hind out o'er the lea,
Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see,
The twa, with kindly sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang.
The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith;
To lo'e for ay, he gae her his aith:
Quo' she, to leave thee I will be laith,

My winsome Gaberlunzie man.

O kenn'd, my minnie, I were wi' you,
Ill-fardly wad she crook her mou',

Sic a poor man she'd never trow,
After the Gaberlunzie-man.

My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young,
And ha' nae learn'd the beggar's tongue,
To follow me frae town to town,

And carry the gaberlunzie on.

Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,

To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout o'er my e'e;
A cripple, or blind, they will ca' me,
While we shall be merry and sing.

"A

This very graphic song is printed as the composition of James V. of Scotland. prince," says Percy, "whose character, for wit and libertinism, bears a great resemblance to that of his gay successor, Charles II. He was noted," the Bishop adds, "for strolling about his dominions in disguise, and for his frequent gallantries with country girls. Two adventures of this kind he hath celebrated with his own pen, viz., in the Gaberlunzie-man, and The Jolly Beggar.”

"I know not," says Cunningham, "where a more lively picture of living life, or a story of rustic intrigue, told with such naïveté and discretion, is to be found, than in the above song."]

The black Eagle.

THIS song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits as a prose writer are well known.

HARK! yonder eagle lonely wails;
His faithful bosom grief assails;
Last night I heard him in my dream,
When death and woe were all the theme.
Like that poor bird I make my moan,
I grieve for dearest Delia gone;
With him to gloomy rocks I fly,
He mourns for love, and so do I.

'Twas mighty love that tam'd his breast,
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest;
He droops his wings, he hangs his head,
Since she he fondly lov'd was dead.
With Delia's breath my joy expir'd,
'Twas Deila's smiles my fancy fir'd;
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove
Nought can supply the place of love.

Dark as his feathers was the fate
That robb'd him of his darling mate;
Dimm'd is the lustre of his eye,
That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky.

To him is now for ever lost

The heart-felt bliss he once could boast;

Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display
An image of my soul's dismay.

Dr. Fordyce perished at sea in the year 1755.]

Johnnie Cope.

THIS satirical song was composed to commemorate General Cope's defeat at Preston Pans, in 1745, when he marched against the Clans.

The air was the tune of an old song, of which I have heard some verses, but now only remember the title, which was,

Will ye go the coals in the morning.

[The following is the old song to which Burns refers:

I.

COPE sent a challenge frae Dunbar-
Charlie, meet me, an ye daur,
And I'll learn you the art of war,

If you'll meet me in the morning.

CHORUS.

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were waking I would wait

To gang to the coals i' the morning.

II.

When Charlie look'd the letter upon, He drew his sword the scabbard from, Come follow me, my merry merry men, To meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning.

III.

Now, Johnnie Cope, be as good 's your word,
And try our fate wi' fire and sword,
And dinna tak wing like a frighten'd bird,

That's chas'd frae its nest i' the morning.

IV.

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this,
He thought it wadna be amiss
To hae a horse in readiness

To flee awa' i' the morning.

v.

Fy Johnnie, now get up and rin, The Highland bagpipes make a din, It's best to sleep in a hale skin,

For 'twill be a bluidie morning.

VI.

Yon's no the took o' England's drum, But it's the war-pipes deadly strum; And poues the claymore and the gunIt will be a bluidy morning.

VII.

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, They speer'd at him "Where's a' your men?" "The deil confound me gin I ken,

For I left them a' i' the morning."

VIII.

Now, Johnnie, trouth ye was na blate,
To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,
And leave your men in sic a strait,
Sae early in the morning.

IX.

Ah! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got a fleg,
With their claymores and philabeg;
If I face them again, dcil break my leg,

Sae I wish you a good morning.
Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet!
If ye were waking I would wait

To gang to the coals i' the morning.

When Cope fled, the fleetness of his horse carried him foremost, upon which a Scot man sarcastically complimented him, "God. Sir, but ye hae won the race, win the battle wha like!"]

Cease, cease, my dear Friend to explore. THE song is by Dr. Blacklock; I believe, but I am not quite certain that the air is his too.

[There are some pretty lines and agreeable thoughts in this song :

CEASE, cease, my dear friend to explore
From whence and how piercing my smart;
Let the charms of the nymph I adore
Excuse and interpret my heart.
Then how much I admire ye shall prove,
When like me ye are taught to admire,
And imagine how boundless my love,
When you number the charms that inspire.

Than sunshine more dear to my sight,
To my life more essential than air,
To my soul she is perfect delight,
To my sense all that's pleasing and fair.
The swains, who her beauty behold,
With transport applaud every charm,
And swear that the breast must be cold
Which a beam so intense cannot warm.

Does my boldness offend my dear maid!
Is my fondness loquacious and free?
Are my visits too frequently paid?

Or my converse unworthy of thee?
Yet when grief was too big for my breast,
And labour'd in sighs to complain,
Its struggles I oft have supprest,
And silence impos'd on my pain.

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