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JESSIE.

TUNE-"Bonnie Dundee."

TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks o' the Ayr;
But by the sweet side of the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair.
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ;-
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain:
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.

O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring,
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
And still to her charms she alone is a stranger!
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.

THE POSIE.

O LUVE will venture in where it darena weel be seen;
O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been;
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green,
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without
a peer,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging blue, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,
And a to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day;
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by aʼ above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve,

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

I've heard them lilting, at the ewe milking,
Lasses a' lilting, before dawn of day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blithe lads are scorning;
Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;

Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.

In har'st at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering;
Bandsters are runkled, and lyart or gray;

At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;
The flowers of the forest are a wede awae.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks, with the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her dearie-
The flowers of the forest are weded awae.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaning—
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae. *

KATHRINE OGIE.

As walking forth to view the plain,
Upon a morning early,

While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain,
From flowers which grew so rarely;

* It appears that this song, although usually thought to be older than the one beginning-I've seen the smiling, &c. and in which, as Mr. SCOTT expresses it, "the manner of the ancient Minstrels is so happily imitated," is yet in reality of a later date. Respecting the author, Mr. ScOTT, in his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, merely informs us, "that it was composed by a lady of family in Roxburghshire; but Mr. RAMSAY of Ochtertyre, as quoted in the Life of BURNS, states, that it was written by the sister of Sir GILBERT ELLIOT, and fixes the date of it to about 1755. Mr. RAMSAY also, as well as Mr. Scorт, supposes it to have been written with a reference to the depopulation of the border districts, and particularly of those about Ettrick Forest, occasioned by the battle of Flodden; and he adds, "in spite of the double rhymes, it is a sweet, and, though in some parts allegorical, a natural expression of national sorrow."

I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid,
She shin'd, tho' it was foggie:
I ask'd her name; Sweet Sir, she said,
My name is Kath❜rine Ogie.

I stood a while, and did admire,
To see a nymph so stately;
So brisk an air there did appear
In a country maid so neatly:-
Such nat❜ral sweetness she display'd,
Like lilies in a bogie;
Diana's self was ne'er array'd

Like this same Kath'rine Ogie.

Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen,
Who sees thee sure must prize thee;
Though thou art drest in robes but mean,
Yet these cannot disguise thee:
Thy handsome air, and graceful look,
Excels each clownish rogie;
Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke,
My charming Kathʼrine Ogie.

O! were I but some shepherd swain,
To feed my flock beside thee;
At bughting-time to leave the plain,
In milking to abide thee.

I'd think myself a happier man,
Wi' Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,
Had I but Kath'rine Ogie.

Then I'd despise th' imperial throne,
And statesmen's dang'rous stations,
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,
I'd smile at conqu❜ring nations,
Might I caress, and still possess
This lass of whom I'm vogie;
For they are toys, and still look less,
Compar'd with Kath'rine Ogie.

I fear the gods have not decreed
For me so fine a creature,

Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works in nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,
That are both dark and foggie;
Pity my case, ye Powers above!
Else I die for Kath'rine Ogie.

WANDERING WILLIE.

J

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting;
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee:
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,-
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me.

Rest, ye
wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers;
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows!
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But, oh! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie, Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it,

But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain. *

The superior excellence of this beautiful poem has been universally admitted; yet few or none of the productions of BURNS have been more rigorously criticised. When the Bard first sent it to Mr. THOMPSON for insertion in his Musical work,

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