IV.
For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,

Ye're nought but senseless asses, 0 :
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, 0.

Green grow, &c.

V.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, 0 : Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man, And then she made the lasses, 0.

Green grow, &c.

Again rejoicing nature sees

Her robe assume its 'vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,

All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

CHORUS.* And maun I still on Meniet doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? * This choras is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a partioular friend of the author's. + Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne.

For its jet, jet black, an' its like a hawk,

An' it winna let a body be !

II.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,

In vain to me the vi’lets spring;
In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

And maun I still, &c.

III.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,

Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,
But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.

Ind maun I still, &c.

IV.

The wanton coot the water skims,

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.

And maun I still, &c.

V.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap,

And owre the moorlands whistles shill, Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step I meet him on the dewy hill.

And maun I still, &c. VI.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on Aittering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide.

And maun I still, &c.

VII.

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl,

And raging bend the naked tree ;
Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul,

When nature all is sad like me!

CHORUS.

And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn thats in her e'e ? For its jet, jet black, an' its like a hawk,

An' it winna let a body be.*

SONG.

Tune Roslin Castle.'

I.

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,

We cannot presume to alter any of the poems of our baru, and more especially those printed under his own direction ; yet it is to be regretted that this chorus, which is not of his own composition, should be attached to these fine stanzas, as it perpetually interrupts the train of sentiment which they excite. E.

Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
In see it driving o'er the plain ;
The hunter now is left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure,
While here I wander prest with care,
Along the lonely bảnks of Ayr.

II.
The Autumn mourns her rip’ning corn
By early Winter's ravage torn ;
Across her placid, azure sky,
She sees the scowling tempest fly:
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

III.

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 'Tis not that fatal deadly shore; Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear : But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc'd with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.

IV.

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past, unhappy loves !

Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes ! My peace with these, my love with those The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr.

SONG.

Tune, Gilderoy.'

I.
From thee, Eliza, I must go,

And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw

A boundless ocean's roar :
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,

Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide

My heart and soul from thee;

II.
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,

The maid that I adore !
A boding voice is in mine ear,

We part to meet no more!
But the last throb that leaves my heart,

While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

And thine that latest sigh !