Let us as jovial be as they,
Amang the birks of Invermay.

But soon the winter of the year,
And age, life's winter, will appear;
At this thy lovely bloom will fade,
As that will strip the verdant shade:
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er,
The feather'd songsters are no more;
And when they droop, and we decay,
Adieu the birks of Invermay.

BLUE EYED ANNE.

TUNE" Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."

NINE times bleak winter's cranreuch snell
Despoil'd o' bloom the daisied lea,
And nine times has the primrose pale
Spread round the dells of Coir-in-shee,
Since, where Mountstuart's dusky groves
Wave o'er yon foaming distant sea,-
I, blushin', own'd my youthful love,
And Blue-eyed Anne reprov'd na me.

Wha then cou'd think our joys wad fade!
Love's dearest pleasures a' we knew;
And not a cloud was seen to shade
The blissful scenes young fancy drew:
But, whyles, misfortune overcasts

Our fairest hopes when least we dree:Alas! I've born her rudest blast,

Yet Blue-eyed Anne still smiles on me.

Now safe retir'd, no more I'll stray
Ambition's faithless path alang,
But calmly spend the careless day
Dunoon's green winding vales amang:
And aft I'll climb this hoary pile,

When spring revives each flower and tree,
To view yon sweet_sequester'd isle,

Whare Blue-eyed Anne first smil'd on me.

*

*This charming little song is by the same Author as "Lassie w the raven locks," and was written in January, 1806, among the ruins of Dunoon Castle, which command a distant view of Mountstuart, in the isle of Bute. Blue-eyed Anne is Mrs. FLETCHER, the Poet's amiable partner, a lady exemplary for every virtue that can adorn the female breast. The first two lines of the last stanza refer to the Author's being unsuccessful in business at an early period of life. Coir-in-shee, or Cor-ryntshee, is a wild sequestered spot on the western bank of the beautiful and truly romantic lake, Loch-haik, Cowal, Argyllshire. In "the days of other years," it was the favourite haunt of "the nimble-footed deer;" and its mountains, caves, and glens, have been celebrated in many a hunter's song. No admirer of Salvator can travel Loch-haik-side, without pleasure: Indeed, a scene so truly Alpine is seldom met with in this country. The following stanza of BEATTIE'S Minstrel, is strictly descriptive of this charming spot:

"Along the (lake's green margin) you might see,

The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,
And here and there a solitary tree,

Or massy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
And from the summit of yon craggy mound
The parching eagle oft was heard to cry,

Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.”.

HALUCKET MEG.

TUNE-" The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre.” MEG, muckin at Geordie's byre,

Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang;
Ilk daud o' the scartle strack fire,
While, loud as a lavrock, she sang!
Her Geordie had promis'd to marrie,
An' Meg, a sworn fae to despair,
Not dreamin the job cou'd miscarrie,
Already seem'd mistress an' mair!

My neebours, she sang, aften jeer me,
An' ca' me, daft, halucket Meg,
An' say, they expect soon to hear me
I' the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg!
An' now, 'bout my marriage they clatter,
An' Geordie, poor fallow! they ca'
An auld, doitit hav'rel!-Nae matter,
He'll keep me ay brankin an' braw!

I grant ye, his face is kenspeckle,

That the white o' his ee is turn'd out, That his black beard is rough as a heckle, That his mou to his lug's rax'd about; But they need na let on that he's crazie, His pike-staff wull ne'er let him fa'; Nor that his hair's white as a daisie, For, fient a hair has he ava!

But a weel-plenish'd mailin has Geordie,
An' routh o' guid goud i' his kist;
An' if siller comes at my wordie,

His beautie, I never wull miss't!
Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder,
Think love-raptures ever wull burn!
But wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder,
Wull cauld as an iceshogle turn!

There'll just be ae bar to my pleasure,
A bar that's aft fill'd me wi' fear,
He's sic a hard, near-be-gawn miser,
He likes his saul less than his gear!
But tho' I now flatter his failin,

An' swear nought wi' goud can compare,
Gude sooth! it sall soon get a scailin!
His bags sall be mouldie nae mair!

I dreamt that I rade in a chariot,
A flunkie ahint me i' green;
While Geordie cry'd out, he was harriet,
An' the saut tear was blindin his een!
But tho' 'gainst my spendin he swear ay,
I'll hae frae him what ser's my turn;
Let him slip awa whan he grows wearie,
Shame fa' me! gin lang I wad mourn!

But Geordie, while Meg was harranguin,
Was cloutin his breeks i' the bauks,
An' whan a' his failins she brang in,
His strang, hazle pike-staff he taks;
Designin to rax her a lounder,

He chanc'd on the lather to shift,
An' down frae the bauks, flat's a flounder,
Flew, like a shot-starn frae the lift!

But Meg, wi' the sight, was quite haster'd,
An', nae doubt, was bannin ill luck;
While the face o' poor Geordie was plaster'd,
An' his mou was fill'd fou wi' the muck!
Confound ye! cry'd Geordie, an' spat out
The glaur that adown his beard ran;—
Preserve us! quo Meg, as she gat out

The door, an' thus lost a gudeman!

*

*We owe this humorous song to the Rev. JAMES NICOL, author of two volumes of poetry. Poor Meg! although we see the

EV'NING SHEDS HER GEMS O' DEW.
TUNE-" Gloomy winter's now awa.”
EV'NING sheds her gems o' dew
On the heath-bell blossoms blue,
Blooming here beneath the yew,
Upon thy grave, my Mary, O!
Larger drops than those of eve,
Burning tears the flowers receive,
Grief, that time can ne'er relieve,
Wi' me must ever tarry, O.
Nought on earth can ere restore
Pleasure to my bosom more;
Anguish still must wring its core,
Till I rejoin my Mary, O!

Lonely here till rosy morn
Breathes the scent o' flowery thorn;
Sad in sorrow still I'll mourn,

In grief for thee, my Mary, O!
Pondering o'er my hapless woes,
While my bleeding bosom glows,
Tears frae keenest anguish flows,
My soul for thee is weary, O!
Ne'er again, in yonder vale,
Breathing sweet the evʼning gale;
Ne'er again thy tender tale

Shall sooth my bosom, Mary, O.

fair airy superstructure she had reared, even in contempt of pub lic opinion, tumble at once about her ears, we can scarcely call her unfortunate. She had only expatiated on all the lights of the picture without any of its shades. As for the antiquated votary of the Cyprian Goddess, we must heartily congratulate him on his acquiring, at the cheap rate of a temporary mortification of his gustatory or olfactory feelings, a piece of information that too many in his circumstances are constrained to learn when the knowledge can be of little consequence to them.