Hope and Fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to Nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.

Ye whom Sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy Day to you is dear.
Gentle Night, do thou befriend me;
Downy Sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!

BLYTHE WAS SHE.

TUNE-Andro and his Cutty Gun.

[This beautiful song was composed in October, 1787. When sojourning at Harvieston, he made an excursion to Ochtertyre in Strathearn, in order to pay a visit to Sir William Murray, cousin-german of Mr. Graham of Fintry, through whose influence it is understood he obtained his appointment to the Excise, some time afterwards. Among the inmates of Ochtertyre House at this time was a young cousin of his host, Miss Euphemia Murray of Lintrose, aged 18, and Burns made her the subject of the following pastoral song. Miss Murray eventually became the wife of one of the judges of the Court of Session-Lord Methven.]

CHORUS.

Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she butt and ben;
Blythe by the banks of Earn,

And blythe in Glenturit glen.

By Ochtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks, the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonier lass,
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blythe, &c.

Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Earn,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blythe, &c.

Her bonie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.
Blythe, &c.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lawlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trode the dewy green.
Blythe, &c.

TO DAUNTON ME.

[This excellent song, although in no way acknowledged by Burns, is indubitably his, and exists in his own MS.]

THE blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,

The simmer-lilies bloom in snaw,

The frost may freeze the deepest sea,
But an auld man shall never daunton me.

CHORUS.

To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue,
That is the thing you ne'er shall see,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.

For a' his meal and a' his maut,

For a' his fresh beef and his saut,

For a' his gold and white monie,

An auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, &c.

His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes,
But me he shall not buy nor fee,

For an auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, &c.

He hirples twa-fauld as he dow,

Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,
And the rain rains down frae his red blear'd e'e,
That auld man shall never daunton me.

To daunton me, &c.

TALK NOT OF LOVE, IT GIVES ME PAIN. TUNE-Banks of Spey.

[The basis of this song is by Mrs. M'Lehose (Clarinda), with whom the poet became acquainted early in Dec., 1787, just about the time when he had intended leaving Edinburgh for good and all; but, between the effect of her charms, and the lameness caused by being overset by a drunken coachman, he was detained in the city till the close of the following February. We give here Clarinda's verses entire, in order that the reader may at once see what share Burns had in the lyric as printed in the Museum :

"Talk not of Love-it gives me pain, for Love has been my foe: He bound me in an iron chain, and plunged me deep in woe!

But Friendship's pure and lasting joys my heart was formed to prove

The worthy object be of those, but never talk of Love!

The Hand of Friendship I accept-may Honour be our guard!

Virtue our intercourse direct, her smiles our dear reward."-CLARINDA.]

TALK not of love, it gives me pain,

For love has been my foe;

He bound me with an iron chain,
And plung'd me deep in woe.

But friendship's pure and lasting joys,
My heart was form'd to prove;
There, welcome win and wear the prize,
But never talk of love.

Your friendship much can make me blest,

Oh, why that bliss destroy!

Why urge the only, one request

You know I will deny !

Your thought, if love must harbour there,

Conceal it in that thought;

Nor cause me from my bosom tear

The very friend I sought.

O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.

[The second and third verses of this song seem to be much indebted to Burns, although he has claimed none of it. Stenhouse, in reference to this matter, says: "The verses in the Museum were revised and improved by Burns."]

COME boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie;
I'll gie John Ross another, bawbee,
To boat me o'er to Charlie.

CHORUS.

We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,
Tho' some there be abhor him :
But O, to see auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!
We'll o'er, &c.

I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines so early!
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd die as aft for Charlie.
We'll o'er, &c.*

* Verse added by Hogg:

"I ance had sons, but now hae nane,

I bred them, toiling sairly;

And I would bear them a' again,
And lose them a' for Charlie!

We'll o'er, &c."

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

[This song is not claimed for Burns by any mark in Johnson except the letter B: he, however, has noted in MS. as follows:-"This song I composed on Miss Jenny Cruickshank, only child to my worthy friend, Mr. Wm. Cruickshank of the High School, Edinburgh. The air is by David Sillar, quondam merchant, and now schoolmaster at Irvine." He afterwards composed some beautiful lines on the same young lady, beginning-"Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay." On returning from his northern tour, the poet took up his residence with Mr. Cruickshank, at his house in St. James's Square. The "Rose-bud," although then only "entered in her teens," was a considerable proficient in music. Professor Walker has told us that he called upon Burns about the end of October, 1787, and "found him seated by the harpsichord of this young lady, listening with the keenest interest to his own verses, which she sung and accompanied, and adjusting them to the music by repeated trials of the effect. In this occupation he was so totally absorbed, that it was difficult to draw his attention from it for a moment."

Mr. Cruickshank died in 1795, and the "Rose-bud" became the wife of Mr. Henderson, a legal practitioner in Jedburgh. The word "bawk," in verse first of the song, means a thorn-fringed footpath through a cultivated field.]

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair!
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shalt sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watch'd thy early morning.