ROSLIN CASTLE.

RICHARD HEWIT.

"Twas in that season of the year,
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.

Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nanny rung;
While Roslin Castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.

Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring,
With rapture warms; awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song;
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay,
O! bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!

O, hark, my love! on ev'ry spray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes;
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.

O come my love! thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls, O come away

Come while the muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine,

O hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,

And charm this ravish'd heart of mine.

["These beautiful verses were the production of a Richard Hewit, a young man that Dr. Blacklock, to whom I am indebted for the anecdote, kept for some years as an amanuensis."--BURNS.

From Herd's Collection, 1769.]

MY GODDESS, WOMAN.

JOHN LEARMONT.

Of mighty Nature's handy-works,

The common or uncommon,
There's nought through a' her limits wide
Can be compared to woman.
The farmer's toils, the merchant trokes,
From dawing to the gloamin;
The farmer cares, the merchant's toils,
Are a' to please thee, woman

The sailor spreads the daring sail,

Through billows chafed and foaming,

For gems and gold and jewels rare.
To please thee, lovely woman.
The soldier fights o'er crimson'd fields,
In distant climates roaming;

But lays, wi' pride, his laurels down,

Before thee, conquering woman.

The monarch leaves his golden throne,
With other men in common,

And lays aside his crown, and kneels
A subject to thee, woman.

Though all were mine e'er man possess'd,
Barbarian, Greek, or Roman,

What would earth be, frae east to west,

Without my goddess, woman?

[John Learmont, the author of this clever song, was a gardener at Dalkeith, "it is very happily imagined," says Mr. Cunningham, "but the execution is unequal."]

THE WAYWARD WIFE.

JENNY GRAHAME.

Alas! my son, you little know

The sorrows which from wedlock flow:
Farewell sweet hours of mirth and ease,
have gotten a wife to please.

When you

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,
Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet,
The half o' that will gane you yet
If a wayward wife obtain you yet.

Your hopes are high, your wisdom small,
Woe has not had you in its thrall;
The black cow on your foot ne'er trod,
Which makes you sing along the road.

When I, like you, was young and free,
I valued not the proudest she;
Like you, my boast was bold and vain,
That men alone were born to reign.

Great Hercules and Sampson too
Were stronger far than I or you,
Yet they were baffled by their dears,
And felt the distaff and the shears.

Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls,
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon-balls;
But nought is found, by sea or land,
That can a wayward wife withstand.

[I know not from whence to get the right reading of this song. Herd first published it in a very imperfect state in 1769, and since that time it has undergone many emendations.

"Miss Grahame was a maiden lady of Dumfries," says Mr. Cunningham, "of lively wit and fascinating manners, and in her youth a most accomplished dancer."]

THE MILLER.

SIR JOHN CLERK OF PENNYCUICK.

O merry may the maid be

Who marries wi' the miller,
For foul day or fair day
He's ay bringing till her;
Has ay a penny in his pouch,

Has something het for supper,

Wi' beef and pease, and melting cheese,
An' lumps o' yellow butter.

Behind the door stands bags o' meal,

And in the ark is plenty;

And good hard cakes his mither bakes,
And mony a sweeter dainty.

A good fat sow, a sleeky cow,
Are standing in the byre;

Whilst winking puss, wi' mealy mou,
Is playing round the fire.

Good signs are these, my mither says,
And bids me take the miller;
A miller's wife's a merry wife,

And he's ay bringing till her.
For meal or maut she'll never want
Till wood and water's scanty;
As langs there's cocks and cackling hens,
She'll ay hae eggs in plenty.

In winter time, when wind and sleet
Shake ha-house, barn, and byre,
He sits aside a clean hearth stane,
Before a rousing fire;

O'er foaming ale he tells his tale;
And ay to show he's happy,

He claps his weans, and dawtes his wife
Wi' kisses warm and sappy.

[From Yair's Charmer, 1751.]

CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.

DUKE OF GORDON.

Born 1743-Died 1827.

There's cauld kail in Aberdeen,

And castocks in Stra'bogie;

Gin I hae but a bonnie lass,

Ye're welcome to your cogie.