There is a homely humour in these pieces; but the hand of the bard had not yet acquired the full measure of its power or cunning. They are amongst the few pieces which the author's father was destined to see, and it is scarcely necessary to say that he admired the ability which they proved his son to possess.

To the same period may be ascribed some of his songs-as the following:

JOHN BARLEYCORN-A BALLAD.'

There were three kings into the east,

Three kings both great and high;

And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and ploughed him down,

Put clods upon his head;

And they hac sworn a solemn oath,

John Barleycorn was dead.

1 Variation in original MS. :

She was nae get o' runted rams,

Wi' woo like goats, and legs like trams;
She was the flower o' Fairly lambs,
A famous breed;

Now Robin, greetin', chows the hams

O' Mailie dead.

2 This is an improvement upon an early song of probably English origin, of which Mr Robert Jameson has given a copy in his Ballads (2 vols. 8vo), which he obtained from a black-letter sheet in the Pepys Library, Cambridge.

But the cheerful spring came kindly on,
And showers began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel armed wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn entered mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Shewed he began to fail.

His colour sickened more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To shew their deadly rage.

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgelled him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit,
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor
To work him further wo;
And still, as signs of life appeared,
They tossed him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller used him worst of all,

For he crushed him 'tween two stones.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,
"Twill make your courage rise.
"Twill make a man forget his wo;
"Twill heighten all his joy:
"Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Though the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

The year 1783, and the early part of 1784, witnessed various love affairs of the poet, of which we have but an obscure account. One of these is solely indicated in the beautiful song of

MARY MORRISON.1

Oh, Mary, at thy window be,

It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morrison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed through the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw.
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,

I sighed, and said amang them a':
'Ye are na Mary Morrison.'

Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morrison.

1 'Of all the productions of Burns, the pathetic and serious love-songs which he has left behind him in the manner of old ballads, are perhaps those which take the deepest and most lasting hold of the mind. Such are the lines to Mary Morrison, &c.'-Hazlitt.

Another finds record in a more luxurious strain:

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

TUNE-Corn Rigs.

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me through the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down wi' right good will
Amang the rigs o' barley;
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I locked her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin';
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I hae been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Though three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, and barley rigs,

And corn rigs are bonnie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

A friend of the late Mrs Anne Mirry, youngest daughter of a friend of Burns afterwards alluded to (p. 88), states that she regarded herself as the Annie' of this song, doubtless from her recognising in it, in connection with her own Christian name, some scene of nocturnal courtship in which she and the bard had been concerned. It is added, that on meeting Burns after the publication of the song, she told him that she had little expected to be celebrated by him in print; when he gaily said: 'O ay, I was just wanting to give you a cast among the lave [rest].' It was her lot to keep a house of entertainment in Cumnock during the greater part of her long life. She is described as a tall and masculine-looking woman. To the last, she would sing the song of the Rigs o' Barley, and speak affectionately of the memory of the poet.

Of a third ditty we have also some particulars. It was a more serious and durable affair than either of the preceding. The heroine was a young woman acting as a superior servant in the house of Mr Montgomery of Coilsfield; hence she was called by Burns Montgomery's Peggy. The poet's acquaintance with her commenced in the same way as that of the Laird of Dumbiedykes with the lady whom he chose as his wife-that is, by their sitting in the same seat in church. He himself tells us that he entered on a courtship, partly from a desire to shew his skill in the writing of billets doux-a kind of exercise in composition, of the dangers of which he, as an unreflecting poet, was of course quite unaware. By and by, as might have been expected, he came to write of the damsel in a somewhat fervent strain :

MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY.

TUNE-Gala Water.

Although my bed were in yon muir,
Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
And winter nights were dark and rainy;
I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.

1 These particulars are from Mrs Begg.