THRO' CRUIKSTON CASTLE'S LONELY WA'S. Thro' Cruikston Castle's lonely wa's The wintry wind howls wild and dreary; Tho' mirk the cheerless e'ening fa's, Yet I ha'e vow'd to meet my Mary. Yes, Mary, tho' the winds shou'd rave Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee, The darkest stormy night I'd brave For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee. Loud o'er Cardonald's rocky steep Rude Cartha pours in boundless measure; But I will ford the whirling deep That roars between me and my treasure. Yes, Mary, tho' the torrent rave With jealous spite to keep me frae thee, Its deepest flood I'd bauldly brave For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee. The watch-dog's howling loads the blast, Yes, Mary, tho' stern winter rave With a' his storms to keep me frae thee, The wildest dreary night I'd brave For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee. This is another of Robert Tannahill's songs, and one well worthy of the favour which it has obtained. Indeed, had the unhappy author received only a tithe of the admiration, whilst he was living, which has been poured so vehemently over his grave, he would not so soon have been numbered among the " sons of the morning." It is safe to sympathise in a poet's fortune when the sod is above him-he will not rise to ask the opulent mourner for a favour. SWEET FA'S THE EVE ON CRAIGIE-BURN. Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, I canna tell, I maunna tell, I darena for your anger; I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall, I see thee sweet and bonnie; But, oh! what will my torments be If thou refuse thy Johnie! To see thee in anither's arms, In love to lie and languish, There are several variations of this song, and they are all so good that they have become popular. The heroine was one of the ladies to whose personal charms the Muse of Burns did frequent acts of homage, under the name of "Chloris," "The Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks," and "The Lass of Craigie-burn." She was as condescending as she was beautiful. It is written in the measure of an old song, of which the chorus is still popular : O to be lying beyond thee, dearie, O to be lying beyond thee: How light and sweet would be his sleep Who lay in the bed beyond thee! NAEBODY. I hae a wife o' my ain, I'll gie cuckold to naebody. I hae naething to lend, I am naebody's lord, I'll be slave to naebody; I hae a gude braid sword, I'll take dunts frae naebody. I'll be merry and free, I'll be sad for naebody; If naebody care for me, I'll care for naebody. This little, lively, lucky song was written at Ellisland. Burns had built his house-he had committed his seedcorn to the ground-he was in the prime, nay the morning of life-health, and strength, and agricultural skill were on his side-his genius had been acknowledged by his country, and rewarded by a subscription more extensive than any Scottish poet ever received before; no wonder, therefore, that he broke out into voluntary song expressive of his sense of importance and independence, The poet, however, modulated his chant by the sentiment and measure of an old rustic bard, who sung with less vigour, but with equal truth: I hae a wife o' my ain, I'll be behadin to naebodie; I hae a pat and a pan, I'll borrow frae naebody. I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. I'll ay ca' in by yon town, And by yon garden green again; I'll ay ca' in by yon town, And see my bonnie Jean again. There's nane shall ken, there's nane shall But she, my fairest faithfu' lass, She'll wander by the aiken-tree, guess, |