this delightful trait in the old Scotish ballads which he t
his model, and upon which he has improved with a felic
delicacy of imitation altogether unrivalled in the history
rature. Sometimes it is the brief and simple pathos of th
nuine old ballad; as,

But I look to the West when I lie down to rest,
slumbers may
my

That happy my dreams and
For far in the West lives he I love best,
The lad that is dear to my baby and me.

Or, as in this other specimen

• Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
A waefu' day it was to me;
For there I lost my father dear,

My father dear, and brethren three.
• Their winding sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's e'e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be ;

be;

IV. p. 337.

specimen tak

For mony a heart thou hast made sair, That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.' Sometimes it is animated with airy narrative, and adorned with images of the utmost elegance and beauty. As a en at random, we insert the following stanzas. And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, And ay she sang sae merrilie : The blythest 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.

As in the bosom o' the stream

The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ;
So trembling, pure, was infant love
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean. '

IV. 80.

Sometimes

Sometimes, again, it is plaintive and mournful,→in the same strain

of unaffected simplicity.

O stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray 1
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.

Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair

Or my poor heart is broken!' IV. 226, 227.

We add the following from Mr Cromek's new volume; as the original form of the very popular song given at p. 325. of Dr Currie's 4th volume.

'Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,

How can ye blume sae fair;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care!

'Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird
That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause luve was true.

• Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird.
That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon,

To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.

'Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree,'

And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.' V. p.

17, 18.

Sometimes the rich imagery of the poet's fancy almost overcomes

the leading sentiment.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,

VOL. XIII. No, 26.

But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.
• The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry,
The stately swan majestic swims,
And every thing is blest but I.

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 when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on flittering wings,

A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. III. 284, 285. The sensibility which is thus associated with simple imagery and gentle melancholy, is to us the most winning and attractive. But Burns has also expressed it when it is merely the instrument of torture-of keen remorse and tender agonizing regret. There are some strong traits of the former feeling, in the poems entitled the Lament, Despondency, &c., when, looking back to the times • When love's luxurious pulse beat high,'

he bewails the consequences of his own irregularities. There is something cumbrous and inflated, however, in the diction of these pieces. We are infinitely more moved with his Elegy upon Highland Mary. Of this first love of the poet, we are indebted to Mr Cromek for a brief, but very striking account, from the pen of the poet himself. In a note on an early song inscribed to this mistress, he had recorded in a manuscript book

My Highland lassie was a warm-hearted, charming young crea ture as ever blessed a man with generous love. After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the Banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewel, before, she should embark for the West-Highlands, to arrange matters a mong her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of Autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock; where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days,-before I could even hear of her illness.' V. 237-8.

Mr Cromek, has added, in a note, the following interesting particulars; though without specifying the authority upon which he details them.

This adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and,

holding

holding a bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted never to meet again!

The anniversary of Mary Campbell's death (for that was her · name), awakening in the sensitive mind of Burns the most lively emotion, he retired from his family, then residing on the farm of Ellisland, and wandered, solitary, on the banks of the Nith, and about the farm yard, in the extremest agitation of mind, nearly the whole of the night: His agitation was so great, that he threw himself on the side of a corn stack, and there conceived his sublime and tender elegy-his address To Mary in Heaven. V. 238.

The poem itself is as follows."

Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade !

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love!

Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past;

Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
• Still o'er these scenes my mem❜ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear,

My Mary, dear departed shade !

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?" I.125-6.

Of his pieces of humour, the tale of Tam o' Shanter is proba

bly the best: though there are traits of infinite merit in Scotch

Drink, the Holy Fair, the Hallow E'en, and several of the Songs; in all of which, it is very remarkable, that he rises occasionally into a strain of beautiful description or lofty sentiment, far above the pitch of his original conception. The poems of observation on life and characters, are the Twa Dogs, and the various Epistles, -all of which show very extraordinary sagacity and powers of expression. They are written, however, in so broad a dialect, that we dare not venture to quote any part of them. The only pieces that can be classed under the head of pure fiction, are the Two Bridges of Ayr, and the Vision. In the last, there are some vigorous and striking lines. We select the passage in which the Muse describes the early propensities of her favourite, rather as being more intelligible, than as superior to the rest of the poem. "I saw thee seek the sounding shore, Delighted with the dashing roar; Or when the North his fleecy store

Drove through the sky,

I saw grim Nature's visage hoar

Struck thy young eye.

"Or when the deep-green mantl'd earth
Warm cherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth,
And joy and music pouring forth

In ev'ry grove,

I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth

With boundless love.

"When ripen'd fields, and azure skies,
Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise,
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys,

And lonely stalk,

To vent thy bosom's swelling rise
In pensive walk.

"When youthful love, warm blushing, strong,
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along,
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue,

Th' adored Name,

To sooth thy flame.

"I saw thý pulse's maddening play,

Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way,

Misled by Fancy's meteor-ray,

By Passion driven;

But yet the light that led astray

Was light from heaven. " III. 109-10. There is another fragment, called a Vision, which belongs to a higher order of poetry. If Burns had never written any thing

else,