THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 'Twas ev'n, the dewy fields were green, All nature list❜ning seem'd the while, With careless step I onward stray'd, Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, O had she been a country maid, E Then pride might climb the slipp❜ry steep, To tend the flocks, or till the soil, Wi' the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. * *This song has been considered, and perhaps with justice, as one of the richest and most finished effusions of BURNS's Muse. The name of the heroine has not been mentioned, but it has been said that she was "a celebrated beauty of the West of Scotland," and that "the charms of her person corresponded with the character of her mind." Our Bard's rencontre with her was not fictitious, nor did he leave her long in ignorance of the enthusiasm she had inspired. The following is an extract from the letter he sent to her, inclosing the song. It is highly descriptive, both of the surrounding scenery, and of his own feelings at the moment; and is, perhaps, one of the finest passages to be found in his prose writings, or indeed, in any writings in the English language. "The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I dare say, Madam, you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the poetic reveur as he wandered by you. I had roved out as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over the distant western hills; not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf.-It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, pouring their harmony on every hand, with a congenial kindred regard, and frequently turned out of my path, lest I should disturb their little songs, or frighten them to another station. Surely, said I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who, regardless of your harmonious endeavour to please him, can eye your elusive flights to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the property nature gives you, your dearest comforts, your helpless nestlings. O TELL ME HOW FOR TO WOO. TUNE-" Bonnie Dundee." OH! tell me, oh tell me bonnie young lassie! Far hae I wander'd to see the dear lassie! Far hae I ventur'd owre moorland and mountain, For ne'er loo'd I onie till ance I loo'd you; Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, what heart at such a time but must have been interested in its welfare, and wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the withering eastern blast? Such was the scene-and such the hour, when, in a corner of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of Nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape, or met a poet's eye; those visionary bards excepted who hold commerce with aërial beings! Had Calumny and Villany taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with such an object. "What an hour of inspiration for a Poet! It would have raised plain, dull, historic prose into metaphor and measure. "The enclosed song was the work of my return home; and perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been expected from such a scene." What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie! It was na for naithing ye left poor young Peggy;— I hae na gowd to busk ye aye gawdie! I never loo'd Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow.- Hae na ye roos'd my cheeks like the morning! Now that ye've found me, there's nae cause to rue; She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom ; And aye 'tween ilk smack she sigh'd to her Johnnie- BESS THE GAWKIE. BLYTHE Young Bess to Jean did say, For hark, and I will tell you, lass, Out owre the muir to Maggie: "For when a civil kiss I seek, "She turns her head, and thraws her cheek, 'O Jamie, ye hae monie taʼen, |