While in this weary warld of wae

This wilderness sae drearie-o,

What makes me blithe, and keeps me sae! 'Tis thee, my kind dearie-o.

[Fergusson wrote the two first verses of this song, the others of equal merit are from the pen of a late bookseller in Glasgow, Mr William Reid.

The "Lea Rig" of Burns may escape in a note:

When o'er the hill the eastern star,
Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
And owsen frae the furrow'd field,
Return sae dowf and weary O;

Down by the burn, where scented birks
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,
If through that glen I gaed to thee,
My ain kind dearie O.

Although the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae wearie O,
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray,

It maks my heart sae cheery O
To meet thee on the lea rig,
My ain kind dearie O.

as also may the old words preserved by Burns.

I'll rowe thee o'er the lea rig

My ain kind dearie, O,

I'll rowe the o'er the lea-rig
My ain kind dearie, O.

Altho' the night were ne'er sae wat

And I were ne'er sae weary, O,
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig
My ain kind dearie, O.]

MARY'S DREAM.

JOHN LOWE.

Died 1798.

The moon had climb'd the highest hill
That rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tow'r and tree;
When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea;
When soft and low a voice was heard,
Saying, Mary, weep no more for me.

She from her pillow gently rais'd

Her head, to ask who there might be;
She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand,
With visage pale and hollow e'e :-
O Mary dear, cold is my clay,

It lies beneath a stormy sea;
Far far from thee I sleep in death,
So, Mary, weep no more for me.

Three stormy nights and stormy days
We toss'd upon the raging main,
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Ev'n then, when horror chill'd my blood,
My heart was fill'd with love for thee:
The storm is past, and I'm at rest,
So, Mary, weep no more for me.

VOL. II.

O maiden dear, thyself prepare,

We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more.
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see ;
But soft the passing spirit said,

"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

[John I owe was the son of a gardener at Kenmure Castle in Galloway; bred up for the church, he was employed as a tutor in a gentleman's family in the same part of the country, Macghie, of Airds, on the River Dee, where he fell in love with one of that gentleman's daughters, whose sister about the same time lost her lover, a Mr. Alexander Miller at sea, which gave occasion to Lowe's writing the above pathetic verses.

The song originally commenced thus:

Pale Cynthia just had reached the hill,

which some person very judiciously altered as it now stands.]

STREPHON AND LYDIA.

WILLIAM WALLACE.

All lonely on the sultry beach
Expiring Strephon lay,

No hand the cordial draught to reach,
Nor cheer the gloomy way.
Ill-fated youth! no parent nigh
To catch thy fleeting breath,
No bride to fix thy swimming eye,
Or smooth the face of death!

Far distant from the mournful scene

Thy parents sit at ease,

Thy Lydia rifles all the plain,

And all the spring, to please.
Ill-fated youth! by fault of friend,
Not force of foe, depress'd,'
Thou fall'st, alas! thyself, thy kind,
Thy country, unredress'd!

["The following I had from Dr. Blacklock.

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the song, were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the gentle Jean mentioned somewhere in Hamilton of Bangour's Poems. Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena.

The author of the song was William Wallace, Esq. of Cairnhill in Ayrshire."-BURNS.]

THE BOATIE ROWS.

MR. EWEN OF ABERDEEN,

O weel may the boatie row,

And better may she speed!
And weel may the boatie row

That wins the bairns' bread.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;
And happy be the lot of a'

That wishes her to speed.

I cuist my line in Largo bay,

And fishes I catch'd nine;

'Twas three to boil, and three to fry, And three to bait the line. The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed;

And happy be the lot of a
Who wishes her to speed.

O weel may the boatie row
That fills a heavy creel,

And cleads us a' frae head to feet,
. And buys our porritch meal.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows indeed;

And happy be the lot of a'

That wish the boatie speed.

When Jamie vow'd he would be mine
And wan frae me my heart,
O muckle lighter grew my creel!

He swore we'd never part.
The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
The boatie rows fu' weel;
And muckle lighter is the lade

When love bears up the creel.

My kurch I put upon my head,
And dress'd mysel' fu' braw,

I trow my heart was douf an' wae
When Jamie gaed awa':
But weel may the boatie row,

And lucky be her part;

And lightsome be the lassie's care

That yields an honest heart.