LOUDON’S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES.
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes,

I maun lea' them a', lassie;
Wha can thole when Britain's faes

Would gie Britons law, lassie?

ly known by the name of Fair Helen of Ardoch.-At that time the opportunities of meeting betwixt the sexes were more rare, consequently more sought after than now; and the Scottish ladies, far from priding themselves on extensive literature, were thought sufficiently book-learned if they could make out the Scriptures in their mother tongue. Writing was entirely out of the line of female education. At that period the most of our young men of family sought a fortune, or found a grave, in France. CROMLUS, when he went abroad to the war, was obliged to leave the management of his correspondence with his mistress to a laybrother of the monastery of Dumblane, in the immediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. This man unfortunately was deeply sensible of HELEN's charms. He artfully prepossessed her with stories to the disadvantage of CROMLUS; and by misinterpreting or keeping up the letters and messages intrusted to his care, he entirely irritated both. All connexion was broken off betwixt them: HELEN was inconsolable, and CROMLUS has left behind him, in the ballad called Cromlet's Lilt, a proof of the elegance of his genius, as well as the steadiness of his love. When the artful monk thought time had sufficiently softened Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover. HELEN was obdurate: but at last overcome by the persuasions of her brother, with whom she lived, and who, having a family of thirty-one children, was probably very well pleased to get her off his hands,

she submitted, rather than consented to the ceremony: but there her compliance ended ; and, when forcibly put into bed, she started quite frantic from it, screaming out, that after three gentle taps on the wainscot at the bed head, she heard CROMLUS's voice, crying, Helen, Helen, mind me. CROMLUS soon after coming home, the treachery of the confidant was discovered,-her marriage disannulled, -and Helen became lady Cromlecks."

Wha would shun the field of danger?
Wha frae fame would live a stranger?
Now-when freedom bids avenge her,

Wha would shun her ca’, lassie ?
Loudon's bonnie woods and braes
Hae seen our happy bridal days,
And gentle hope shall sooth thy waes
- When I am far awa, lassie.

Hark! the swelling bugle sings,

Yielding joy to thee, laddie; But the dolefu' bugle brings,

Waefu' thoughts to me, laddie. Lanely I may climb the mountain, Lanely stray beside the fountain, Still the wearie moments counting,

Far frae love, and thee, laddie, O'er the gory fields of war, When vengeance drives his crimson car, Thou'lt maybe fa', frae me afar,

And nane to close thy ee, laddie.

O resume thy wonted smile,

O suppress thy fears, lassie,
Glorious honour crowns the toil,

That the soldier shares, lassie:
Heav'n will shield thy faithful lover,
'Till the vengeful strife is over;
Then we'll meet nae mair to sever,

'Till the day we die," lassie: 'Midst our bonnie woods and braes We'll spend our peaceful happy days, As blythe's yon lightsome lamb, that plays

On Loudon's flow'ry lea, lassie.

O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.

TUNE~" My love is lost to me.”
O WERE I on Parnassus' hill !
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.

But Nith maun be my muse's well,
My muse maun be thy bonnie sell;
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,

And write how dear I love thee.
Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay,
For a' the lea-lang simmer's day,
I coudna sing, I coudna say,

How much, how dear I love thee.
I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een-

By heaven and earth I love thee!
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame;
And aye I muse and sing thy name;

I only live to love thee.
Tho' I were doom'd to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
'Till my last weary sand was run,

'Till then--and then I love thee. *

HUSH YE RUDE BREEZES.

TUNE--"Bonnie Dundee.”
Hush, hush ye rude breezes, my Harry is comin',

Nor aim at my lover the blasts that ye blaw,
For he'd come to my arms, tho' the burn it was foamin',

In winter or summer, thro’ sleet or thro’ snaw. He hears not, nor fears not your blustering thunder,

But thinks his dear lassie how soon he shall see; And oh! may rude fate never cast us asunder,

Nor blast all the hopes of my Harry and me,

* Mrs. Burns is the heroine of this beautiful song. Corsincon, is a high hill near the source of the river Nith.

My Harry is blythsome, my Harry is cheerie,

Wi' him ilk thing round me looks bonnie and braw; But ilk thing aroun' me look's darksome and drearie,

If e'er he gaes frae me, or turns to gae 'wa. Lang hae I lo'ed him, an' never, O never,

Can I think my dear laddie for ever to lea'; But if 'tis our fate that death should us sever,

One grave shall receive both my Harry and me.*

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT.
0! I am come to the low countrie,

Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Without a penny in my purse,

To buy a meal to me.
It was nae sae in the Highland hills,

Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Nae woman in the country wide

Sae happy was as me.
For then I had a score o' kye,

Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Feeding on yon hill sae high,

And giving milk to me.
And there I had three-score o' yowes,

Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,

And casting woo to me.
I was the happiest of a' the clan,

Sair, sair may I repine,
For Donald was the bravest man,

And Donald he was mine!

* By the author of the Farewell to Avondale. See p. 281.