LORD GREGORY."

D MIKK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r,
Lord Gregory,―ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;

At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it mayna be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,

By bonnie Irwine side,

Where first I own'd that virgin-love,
I lang, lang had denied?

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,
Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,
O wilt thou give me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see!
But spare, and pardon my fause love,
His wrangs to heaven and me!

OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH!

WITH ALTERATIONS.

Он, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove
true,

Oh, open the door to me, oh!
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh!

'A friend of Burns writes-"We had the song of 'Lord Gregory,' which I asked for to have an opportunity of calling on Burns to recite his ballad to that tune. He did recite it, and such was the effect that a dead silence enFued."

The frost, that freezes the life at m heart,

Is nought to my pains fra thee, oh!

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,

And time is setting with me, oh! False friends, false love, farewell! for mair

I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh!

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide;

She sees his pale corse on the plain oh !

My true love! she cried, and sank down by his side,

Never to rise again, oh!

And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;

A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;

The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit3 knurl;

She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl.

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;

The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,

A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,

A whip by her side, and a bonnie side saddle.

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 o' 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.

U, 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 la'. And still to her charms she alone is a

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,

Fars for my Willie brought the tear in my e'e;

Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie,

The simmer to nature, my Willie to

me!

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave ' your slumbers;

How your dread howling a lover alarms!

Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mai to my arms.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,

O still flow between us, thou wideroaring main;

May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that ay Willie's

my ain.

LOGAN BRAES.

TUNE" LOGAN WATER."

O LOGAN, Sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride;
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,
Like Logan to the simmer sun;
But now thy flow'ry banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maun face his fans,
Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.
Again the merry month o' May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing
flowers;

Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening's tears are tears of joy:
My soul, delightless, a' surveys,
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,
Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush:
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,
Or wi' his song her cares beguile :
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.

wae upon you, men o' state,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As mak monie a fond heart mourn,
ye
Sae may it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry?
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hame to Logan Braes!

THERE WAS A LASS.'

TUNE "BONNIE JEAN." THERE was a lass, and she was fair, At kirk and market to be seen; When a' the fairest maids were met, The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. And aye she wrought her mammic's wark,

And aye she sang sae merrily; The blithest bird upon the bush

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. But hawks will rob the tender joys

That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And frost will blight the fairest flowers; And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad,

The flower and pride of a' the glen; And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,

He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; And lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

Miss Jean M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig.

As in the bosol o' the streami

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en So trembling, pure, was tender love Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. And now she works her mammie's warl And aye she sighs wi' care and pain Yet wistna what her ail might be,

Or what wad mak her weel again
But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,

Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,

The birds sang sweet in ilka gio: His cheek to hers he fondly prest, And whisper'd thus his tale o' love. "O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me? Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me "At barn or byre thou shaltna drud

Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me. Now what could artless Jeanie do? She had na will to say him na: At length she blush'd a sweet conse And love was aye between them t

'Said to be the sister of Jean M Mu.do

Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were,
I mark'd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare:
So kind may Fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee
Phillis the fair.

BY ALLAN STREAM.1

TUNE-" ALLAN WATER."

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi ; 2

The winds were whispering thro' the

grove,

The yellow corn was waving ready: I listen'd to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures

manie !

I walked out yesterday evening, with a volume of the "Museum" in my hand; when turning up "Allan Water," "What numbers shall the Muse repeat," &c., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat, and raved, under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote out one to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in my worst style. You must know, that in Ramsay's "Teatable," where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is "Allan Water," or "My love Annie's very bonnie." This last has certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which I presume it formerly Occupied; though I likewise give you

choosing line, if it should not hit the cut of your fancy. "Bravo," say I: 'it is a good song."- BURNS to Thom

son.

2 A mountain west of Strathallan, ooo feet high.-R. B

TUNE-" JO JANET."

'HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir; Tho' I am your wedded wife,

Yet I am not your slave, sir." "One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy;

Is it man, or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy?"

"If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so, good-bye, allegiance!"
"Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy!
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy."

"My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it:
When you lay me in the dust,

Think, think how you will bear it."
I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;

Strength to bear it will be given, My spouse, Nancy."

"Well, sir, from the silent dead
Still I'll try to daunt you;
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you."
"I'll wed another, like my dear
Nancy, Nancy;

Then all hell will fly for fear,
My spouse, Nancy."

HAD I A CAVE.

TUNE-" ROBIN ADAIR."

HAD I a cave on some wild, distant shore,

Where the winds howl to the waves dashing roar;

There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more.

Falsest of womankind, canst thou de clare

All thy fond plighted vows-fleeting as air?

To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try,
What peace is there!

DELUDED SWAIN.

TUNE "THE COLLIER'S DOCHTER."

DELUDED Swain, the pleasure,
The fickle Fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure,

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee

The billows on the ocean,

The breezes idly roamin',

The clouds' uncertain motion,-
They are it types of woman.

O art thou not ashamed
To doat upon a feature?
If man thou wouldst be named,
Despise the silly creature.