LOGIE OF BUCHAN.

O Logie of Buchan, its Logie the laird,
He's ta'en awa' Jamie wha delved in the yard,
Wha played on the pipe and the viol sae sma'-
He has ta'en awa' Jannie, the flower o' them a'!

Keep up yere heart, lassie, though I'm gaun awa'-
Keep up yere heart, lassie, when I'm far awa';
For summer will come when cauld winter's awa',
And I'll come and see you in spite o' them a'?

O Sandie has owsen and siller and kye,
A house and a haddin and a' things forbye,
Yet his look is my life, and his wish is my law ;-
They have ta’en awa’ Jamie, the flower o' them a'!

My daddie looks sulky, my mother looks sour ;-
They mock me wi' Jamie, because he is poor:
But daddie and minnie altho' that they be,
There's nane o' them a' like my Jamie to me.
I sit in the sunshine and spin on my wheel,
And think on the laddie who loves me sae weel ;
And I think till my hearts fit to start into twa-
They hae ta'en awa Jamie, the flower o' them a’!

[This song is printed with numerous variations ; Burns touched up a copy for the fourth volume of the Museum, and Alan Cunninghan made improvements for his collection of Scottish songs. Mr. Peter Buchan has given the song to a Mr. George Halket of Aberdeen, while popular belief ascribes it to Lady Anne Lindsay.]

GIN LIVING WORTH COULD WIN MY HEART.

Gin living worth could win my heart,

Ye shou’dna sigh in vain ;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,

Never to rise again.
My waefu' heart lies low wi' his

Whose heart was only mine;
And what a heart was that to lose !

But I maun no repine.
Yet oh! gin heaven in mercy soon

Would grant the boon I crave,
And tak this life, now naething worth,

Sin' Jamie's in his grave!
And see his gentle spirit comes

To shew me on my way;
Surpriz'd nae doubt, I still am here,

Sair wond'ring at my stay.
I come, I come, my Jamie dear;

And oh! wi' what good will,
I follow wheresoe'er ye

lead,
Ye canna lead to ill.
She said ; and soon a deadly pale

Her faded cheek possest,
Her waefu' heart forgat to beat,

Her sorrows sunk to rest.

[Fom Johnson's Musical Museum, vol. iii. 1790--and inserted there from a single sheet, printed at London about the year 1788, and sold by Joseph Dale, No. 19, Cornhill, " sung by Master Knyvett." The author's name I am sorry to say is unknown.)

O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER.

JEAN GLOVER.

Coming through the craigs o' Kyle,

Amang the bonnie blooming heather,
There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keeping a’ her ewes thegither.
O’er the moor ainang the heather,

O’er the moor amang the heather;
There I met a bonnie lassie,

Keeping a' her ewes thegither.

Says I, my dear, where is thy hame,

In moor or dale, pray tell me whether? She says, I tend the fleecy flocks

That feed amang the blooming heather. We laid us down upon a bank,

Sae warm and sunnie was the weather : She left her flocks at large to rove

Amang the bonnie blooming heather.
While thus we lay, she sang a sang,

Till echo rang a mile and farther ;
And aye the burden of the sang

Was, O'er the moor anjang the heather.
She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne

I couldna think on ony other :-
By sea and sky, she shall be mine,

The bonnie lass amang the heather !
VOL. II.

N

O’er the moor amang the heather,

Down amang the blooming heather,
By sea and sky, she shall be mine,

The bonnie lass amang the heather!

["Coming through the Craigs o' Kyle," is the composition of Jean Giover, a girl who was not only a whore but a thief, and in one or other character had visited most of the Correction IIouses in the west. She was born I believe in Kilmarnock. I took the song does from her singing, as she was strolling through the country with a slight-of-hand blackguard."_BURNS.

I rinted by Burns in Johnson's fourth volume.)

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN.

JOHN LAPRAIK.

When I upon thy bosom lean,

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain,
I glory in the sacred ties

That made us ane, wha ance were twain:
A mutual flame inspires us baith,

The tender look, the melting kiss :
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love

But only gie us change o' bliss.

Hae I a wish? it's a' for thee;

I ken thy wish is me to please;
Our moments pass sae smooth away,

That numbers on us look and gaze,

Weel pleas'd they see our happy days,

Nor envy's sel find aught to blame;
And ay when weary cares arise,

Thy bosom still shall be my hame.

I'll lay me there, and take my rest,

And if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,

And beg her not to drap a tear ;
Hae I a joy! it's a' her ain ;

United still her heart and mine;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,

That's twin'd till death shall them disjoin.

[" This song was the work of a very worthy facetious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk, (in Ayrshire). He has often told me that he composed it one day when his wife had been fretting o'er their misfortunes."-BURNS.

Burns heard these beautiful verses sung in a rustic assembly, and was so delighted with them, that he desired the friendship of the author, and addressed a poetic epistle to him in which he alludes with exquisite delicacy to the above song

There was ae sang, amang the rest
Aboon them a' it pleased me best
That some kind husband bad addressed

To some sweet wife,
It thirld the heart-strings thro' the breast
A' to the life.

Works, II, p. 172.)