Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen: For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

>

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, And cauld, CALEDONIA's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,

What are they? The haunt o' the tyrant and slave! The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save Love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean.

SONG.

Tune-" LADDIE LIE NEAR ME."

"Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.

Sair

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ;
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Let me hear from you.

No. LXXIII.

MR. THOMSON TO MR. BURNS.

YOU must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday night, is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it.

The

The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to

your family every way. Tell me whether Mrs. Burns finds you out among the figures.

I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Woodlark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, and fecting verses on Chloris's illness.

perusal of these gives new delight.

your af

Every repeated

The other song

to" Laddie lie near me," though not equal to these, is very pleasing.

No

No. LXXIV.

MR. BURNS TO MR. THOMSON.

Altered from an old English song.

Tune-" JOHN ANDERSON MY JO."

How cruel are the parents

Who riches only prize, And to the wealthy booby,

Poor woman sacrifice. Meanwhile the hapless daughter

Has but a choice of strife; To shun a tyrant father's hate, Become a wretched wife.

The ravening hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin

A while her pinions tries; "Till of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,

She trusts the ruthless falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.

SONG

SONG.

Tune-" DEIL TAK THE WARS."

MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride :
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are their showy treasures?

What are their noisy pleasures?
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:
The polish'd jewel's blaze,

May draw the wond'ring gaze,

And courtly grandeur bright,

The fancy may delight,

But never, never can come near the heart.

But did you see my dearest Chloris,

In simplicity's array;

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is,
Shrinking from the gaze of day.

O then, the heart alarming,

And all resistless charming,

In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul!

Ambition would disown

The world's imperial crown,

Even Av'rice would deny

His worshipp'd deity,

And feel thro'

every vein Love's raptures roll.

Well!