Luve for luve is the bargain for me, Though the wee cot-house should haud

me;

AS I WAS A-WAND'RING.

[An ancient Gaelic song having been literally

bread,

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie

the Poet adapted its meaning thus rhythmically to the old Highland melody, the title of which, done into English, signifies, "My love deceived

NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME.

[The subjoined was written as a poetical greeting to the Lady Winifred Maxwell, on her returning to Scotland and rebuilding the old family seat, the ruined castle of Terreagles, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, she being the last surviving descendant from the forfeited Earl of Nithsdale. It was Lady Winifred who presented to Burns the snuff-box he ever afterwards so highly prized, on the lid of which was a miniature, said to be an authentic original (that is, painted from the life) of Mary Queen of Scots.]

THE noble Maxwells and their powers
Are coming o'er the border,
And they'll gae big Terreagle's towers,
An' set them a' in order.
And they declare Terreagle's fair,

For their abode they choose it;
There's no a heart in a' the land

But's lighter at the news o' it.

Though stars in skies may disappear,

And angry tempests gather, The happy hour may soon be near That brings us pleasant weather: The weary night o' care and grief

May ha'e a joyfu' morrow; So dawning day has brought relief— Farewell our night o' sorrow!

Tune "Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh," — a Gaelic air.

As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin',

The pipers and youngsters were makin' their game;

Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,

Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again.

Weel, since he has left me, may

pleasure gae wi' him!

I may be distressed, but I winna complain;

I'll flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

I couldna get sleepin' till dawin for greetin' ;

The tears trickled down like the hail

and the rain:

Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken,

For, oh! luve forsaken's a tormenting pain!

Weel, since he has left me, &c.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,

I dinna envy him the gains he can

win;

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my

sorrow,

Than ever ha'e acted sac faithless to

him.

Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,

for ane.