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THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie will ye go, to the Birks of Aberfeldy?

Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlets plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithly sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, 8c.
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
The hoary cliffs are crown’d wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers
The Birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee.
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi’ love and thee,
İn the Birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, fc.

*

* BURNS says, “I composed these stanzas standing under the falls of Aberfeldy, at, or near Moness.” They are written in the same measure as the Birks of Abergeldie, an old Scottish Song, from which nothing is borrowed but the chorus.

THE BANKS OF THE DEE.

'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing,

And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree; At the foot of a rock where the river was flowing,

I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on thou sweet river, Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever: For there I first gain’d the affection and favour

Of Jamie the glory and pride of the Dee.

But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning,

To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he; And ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning,

To wander again on the banks of the Dee. He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud-roaring billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows,

The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him,

Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he returns, with such care I'll watch o'er him,

He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying; The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing; While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying,

And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.

LOGAN BRAES.

“ By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep,
“ Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep;
“ Herded sheep, or gather'd slaes,
6 Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.

“ But waes my heart, thae days are gane,
“ And I, wi' grief, may herd alane;
“ While my dear lad maun face his faes,
“ Far, far frae me an' Logan braes.

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Nae mair at Logan kirk will he “ Atween the preachings meet wi' me; “ Meet wi' me, or whan it's mirk,

Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk. “ I weel may sing thae days are gane “ Frae kirk an' fair I come alane, “ While my dear lad maun face his faes, “ Far, far frae me an' Logan braes! “ At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,

I danner out, or sit alane,

Sit alane, beneath the tree “ Where aft he kept his tryst wi' me. « O! cou'd I see thae days again, “ My lover skaithless, an' my ain! “ Belov'd by frien's, rever'd by faes, “ We'd live in bliss on Logan braes.”

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While for her love she thus did sigh, She saw a sodger passing by, Passing by, wi' scarlet claes, While sair she grat on Logan braes: Says he, “ What gars thee greet sae sair, “ What fills thy heart sae fu' o' care? “ Thae sporting lambs ha'e blythesome days, “ An' playful skip on Logan braes.” “ What can I do but weep and mourn? I fear

my

lad will ne'er return, « Ne'er return to ease my waes, “ Will ne'er come hame to Logan braes." Wi' that he clasp'd her in his arms, And said, “ I'm free from war’s alarms,

I now hae conquer'd a' my faes,
“ We'll happy live on Logan braes.
Then straught to Logan kirk they went,
And join’d their hands wi' one consent,
Wi' one consent to end their days,
An' live in bliss on Logan braes.
An' now she sings, “ thae days are gane,
“ When I wi' grief did herd alane,
“ While

my dear lad did fight his faes,
Far, far frae me an' Logan braes.” *

THE AULD MAN'S SANG.

TUNE-"Dumbarton Drums."

O why should age so much wound us, O?
There is nothing in't at all to confound us, 0;

For how happy now am I,

With my auld wife sitting by,
And our bairns and our oyes all around us, 0.

* Many have supposed this song to be a production of the “olden time.” This, however, appears to be a mistake. In a late edition of the Works of BURNS, it is stated in a note to have been the production of Mr. John Mayne. This Gentleman is a native of Glasgow, and at present one of the Proprietors of the London Star. He is the author of " Glasgow, a Poem,” and several other pieces of considerable merit. Logan Braes first came to be popularly known in the South West of Scotland about the year 1783. About the same time it was published by most of the Music Sellers in London, and soon became a great favourite at Vauxhall.-It will be seen, by a reference to Burns's Logan Water, that he has adopted two lines of MAYNE's Song.

We began in this world with naething, 0,
And we've jogg'd on and toild for the ae thing, 0;

We made use of what we had,

And our thankful hearts were glad, When we got the bit meat and the claithing, O. When we had any thing we never vaunted, O, Nor did we hing our heads when we wanted, 0;

We always gave a share,

Of the little we could spare,
When it pleas'd the Almighty to grant it, 0.
We have liv'd all our lifetime contented, 0,
Since the day we became first acquainted, O;

It's true we have been poor,

And we are so to this hour,
Yet we never repin'd nor lamented, 0.
We never laid a plot to be wealthy, O,
By ways that were cunning or stealthy, 0,

But we always had the bliss,

(And what further could we wis'?) To be pleas'd with ourselves and be healthy, O.

But tho' we cannot boast of our guineas, 0,
We have plenty of Jockies and Jeanies, 0;

And these I'm certain are

More desirable by far
Than a bag full of poor yellow stanies, 0.

We have seen many wonder and ferlie, 0,
At changes that have almost been yearly, O,

Of rich folks up and down,

Both in country and in town, That now live but scrimply and sparely, 0. Then why should people brag of prosperity, O, Since a straiten'd life we see is no rarity, O?

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