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BLUE-EYED ANNE.

TOBIAS SMOLLETT.

When the rough north forgets to howl,
And ocean's billows cease to roll;
When Lybian sands are bound in frost,
And cold to Nova Zembla's lost!
When heav'nly bodies cease to move,
My blue-eyed Anne I'll cease to love.

No more shall flowers the meads adorn ;
Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn;
Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring,
Nor parching heats the dog-star bring;
Nor laughing lilies paint the grove,
When blue-eyed Anne I cease to love.

No more shall joy in hope be found;
Nor pleasures dance their frolic round;
Nor love's light god inhabit earth;
Nor beauty give the passion birth;
Nor heat to summer-sunshine cleave
When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive.

When rolling seasons cease to change,
Inconstancy forgets to range;

When lavish May no more shall bloom;
Nor gardens yield a rich perfume;
When Nature from her sphere shall start,
I'll tear my Nanny from my heart.

[These tender verses were probably addressed to Miss Anne Lascelles, whom Smollett met with in the West Indies, and afterwards married. She survived the poet, and from her slender means erected a handsome monument to his memory in the burying ground at Leghorn.

One of the great causes of Smollett's death, is said to have been grief for the loss of his daughter and only child, who was taken from him in her fifteenth year. From an epistle of Armstrong's addressed to John Wilkes, in 1760, we gather that this "opening rosebud" was not only growing in beauty, but growing in grace, when she was snatched away from him.

With you at Chelsea, oft I may behold

The hopeful bud of sense her bloom unfold.]

MERRY MAY THE KEEL ROWE.

As I came down the Canno'gate
The Canno'gate, the Canno'gate,
As I came down the Canno'gate,
I heard a lassie sing, O;
Merry may the keel rowe,

The keel rowe, the keel rowe,

Merry may the keel rowe,

The ship that my love's in, O!

My love has breath o' roses,

O' roses, o' roses,
Wi' arms o' lilie posies,

To fauld a lassie in O.

Merry may the keel rowe,

The keel rowe, the keel rowe,

Merry may the keel rowe,

The ship that my love's in, O!

My love he wears a bonnet,
A bonnet, a bonnet,
A snawy rose upon it,

A dimple on his chin, O.
Merry may the keel rowe,

The keel rowe, the keel rowe,
Merry may the keel rowe,

The ship that my love's in, O!

[From Cromek's "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song." 8vo. "It has," says Mr. Cromek, "the Jacobitical rose growing among its love sentiments."

1810.

Mr. Cunningham in the Songs of Scotland, gave a different copy of this Jacobitical song :

As I came down through Cannobie,

Through Cannobie, through Cannobie,
The summer sun had shut his ee,

And loud a lass did sing-0:
Ye westlin winds, all gently blow,-
Ye seas, soft as my wishes flow,-
And merry may the shallop rowe
That my true love sails in-o!

My love has breath like roses sweet,
Like roses sweet, like roses sweet,
And arms like lillies dipt in weet,

To fold a maiden in-o.

There's not a wave that swells the sea,
But bears a prayer and wish frae me ;-
O soon may I my truelove see,

Wi' his bauld bands again-o.

My lover wears a bonnet blue,
A bonnet blue, a bonnet blue;
A rose so white, a heart so true,
Wi' dimple on his chin-o.
He bears a blade his foes have felt,
And nobles at his nod have knelt:

My heart will break as well as melt,
Should he ne'er come again-o.]

I HAE NAE KITH, I HAE NAE KIN.

I hae nae kith, I hae nae kin,
Nor ane that's dear to me,

For the bonny lad that I lo'e best,
He's far ayont the sea:

He's gane wi' ane that was our ain,
And we may rue the day
When our king's daughter came here
To play sic foul play.

O, gin I were a bonny bird,

Wi' wings that I might flee,
Then I wad travel o'er the main,
My ae true love to see;
Then I wad tell a joyfu' tale

To ane that's dear to me,
And sit upon a king's window,
And sing my melody.

The adder lies i' the corbie's nest,

Aneath the corbie's wame;

And the blast that reaves the corbie's brood
Shall blaw our good king hame.
Then blaw ye east, or blaw ye west,
Or blaw ye o'er the faem,
O bring the lad that I lo'e best,

And ane I darena name.

["This is a very sweet and curious little old song, but not very easily understood. The air is exceedingly simple, and the verses highly characteristic of the lyrical songs of Scotland."-HOGG.]

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA, WILLIE.

Kenmure's on and awa, Willie,
Kenmure's on and awa;

And Kenmure's lord is the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.
Success to Kenmure's band, Willie,
Success to Kenmure's band;
There's no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure's hand.

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,
O, Kenmure's lads are men;
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.
They'll live and die wi' fame, Willie,
They'll live and die wi' fame;

And soon wi' sound of victory

May Kenmure's lads come hame.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

There ne'er was a coward of Kenmure's blood,
Nor yet of Gordon's line.

His lady's cheek grew red, Willie,

Syne white as sifted snaw:

There rides my lord, a Gordon gude,

The flower of Gallowa.

There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,
A bright sword in his hand—

A hundred Gordons at his side,
And hey for English land!

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