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Every thing in the Highlands now

Pe turn't to alteration;
The sodger dwal at our door cheek,

And that's te great vexation.
Scotland be turn't an England now,

And laws pring on te cadger: Nainsel wad durk him for hur deeds,

But oh she fears de sodger.
Another law cam after that,

Me never saw the like, man:
They mak a lang road on the crund,

And ca' him turnimspike, man.
And wow she pe a ponnie road,

Like Louden corn rigs, man; Whar twa carts may gang on her,

And no break others legs, man.
They sharge a penny for ilka hors,

In troth they'll be nae sheaper,
For nought but gaun upo' the crund,

And they gie me a paper,
They tak the hors than pe the head,

And there they mak them stand, man: Me tellid tem me hae seen te day,

Tey had nae sic command, man. Nae doubts nainsel maun draw his purs,

And pay them what him's like, man: I'll see a shudgement on his store,

That filthy turnimspike, man. But I'll awa to te Highland hills,

Whar ne'er a ane sall turn her; And no come near your turnimspike,

Unless it pe to purn her.

DUNCAN GRAY. DUNCAN GRAY cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe Yule night, when we were fu',

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Maggie coost her head fu' heigh,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin'; Spak o' lowpin o'er a lin,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Time and chance are but a tide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Slighted love is sair to bide,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie die?
She may gae to France for me!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
How it comes let doctors tell,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;
Meg grew sick-as he grew heal,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Something in her bosom wrings;
For relief a sigh she brings;
And O, her een they spak sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan was a lad o grace,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

Maggie's was a piteous case,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.
Duncan cou'd na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath;
Now they're crouse and canty baith,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. *


TUNE_" The Campbell's are comin'."
The bud on the brier it is bonnie enough,
An' sae is the flow'r on the ha' lass:
How sweet shines the red setting sun in the stream,
But thou art the sweetest of a' lass.

The lavrock on the lea-lass,
The lintie on the tree-lass,
The mavies aft renews her sang,
But nane o' them sings like thee-lass.

The meeting o’ friends may be happy, I own,
An' blinks o' content gie us a'-lass;
But rapture ne'er comes frae the ee to the heart,
Save only when love gies the law-lass.

* Dr. BLACKLOCK of Edinburgh informed BURNS that he had often heard the tradition that the air of Duncan Gray was composed by a carman in Glasgow. Burns himself thought it was “ that kind of light-horse gallop of an air that precluded sentiment;"—that “the ludicrous was its ruling feature ;” and accordingly, in writing the above verses for it, he has kept this idea steadily in view. For broad humour the song is certainly unequalled in the Scottish language; and it was with great justice the Hon. A. ERSKINE observed, in a letter to BURNS, that “spak o' lowpin owre a linn” was a line of itself that should make him immortal.

The bottle has its charm-Jass,
Which toil an care disarm-lass,
But lasting pleasure ne'er is found,

Till love the bosom warm-lass.
In conqu’ring kingdoms let tyrants unite
An' patriots fight to be free-lass;
But conqu’ring canna gie them the delight,
I hae being conqu’red by theemlass.

For freedom's but a name lass,
And slav'ry's just the same-lass,
I'll wear thy chain wi' a' my heart,

Gif ye will be my ain-lass.
The love melting kiss that I steal frae thy lips,
Will keep me aye constant and true-lass,
An' ilk coming day be mair blest than the past,
An' ilka endearment renew-lass.

Then time may flee like wind-lass,
Its loss we ne'er shall find lass;
The rose that fades upon thy cheek,
Will flourish in thy mind —lass.

POWERS CELESTIAL. POWERS celestial, whose protection

Ever guards the virtuous fair,
While in distant climes I wander,

Let my Mary be your care:
Let her form sae fair and faultless,

Fair and faultli ss as your own;
Let my Mary's kindred spirit,

Draw your choicest influence down. Make the gales you waft around her,

Soft and peaceful as her breast; Breathing in the breeze that fans her,

Sooth her bosom into rest:

Guardian angels, O protect her,

When in distant lands I roam;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,

Make her bosom still my home.



On Ettrick banks, on a summer's night,

At gloaming, when the sheep drove hame,
I met my lassie, braw and tight,

Come wading barefoot a' her lane.
My heart grew light; I ran, and flang

My arms about her lily neck,

* This is a prayer of no common kind. In verses, such as we might suppose to be inspired by scenes as delightful as ever ori. ental fancy pictured, wishes are breathed for a beloved object which seem to have been dictated by the most pure and fervent passion-a passion cherished and invigorated by the genial warmth of Nature, and hallowed by the holy air of Heaven. The Editor of the Reliques of Burns, who first brought the verses into light as the production of our Bard, conjectures that they were written on Highland Mary, on the eve of the Poet's intended departure for the West Indies;---a conjecture not at all improbable, although Highland Mary had been dead several years before the Bard thought of emigrating, for a time, in consequence of the unfortunate issue of his affair with Miss Armour: for it is to be observed that, from one of his early effusions formerly given, Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, there is reason to presume that a departure to the West Indies had long been a favourite object with him; and, in the piece immediately under notice, the name of the object, on whose behalf the wishes are uttered, and the allusion to wandering “in distant climes” and “ realms unknown,” are all in favour of the conjec


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