Your thought, if love must harbour there, Nor cause me from my bosom tear [These verses are printed in the second volume of Johnson's Mus Mus. 1788, headed “By a Lady,” and with the signature M. attached to them. They are well known to have been the composition (save the last four lines, which are by Burns himself) of Mrs. M'Lebose, the celebrated Clarinda of the poet, to whom he addressed in the gaiety of his heart the letters signed Sylvander, full of the flames and darts found in the burlesque pastorals of Tay, and the sighs and vows of the Grub-street school of writers. The lady is still alive in Edin. burgh, honoured by a wide circle of relations and friends.] THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. ROBERT BURNS. Born 1759-Died 1796. "Twas even-the dewy fields were green, The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, All nature listening seem'd the while, With careless step I onward stray'd, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy; Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, And sweet is night in autumn mild; O, had she been a country maid, That ever rose on Scotland's plain, The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine; And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, Or downward seek the Indian mine; Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks, or till the soil, And ev'ry day have joys divine, With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. (This is one of the most beautiful songs in the language the heroine was a Miss Alexander of Ballochmyle in Ayrshire. In the spring of the year 1786, the poet had roved out mid his favourite haunts “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;" whilst he was thus half lost in meditation," I spied," he continues in his letter to the lady, "one of the fairest pieces of nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape, or met a poet's eye.-What an hour of inspiration for a poet." On his return home he composed the above song, and enclosed it in a very laboured letter a few months after to the young lady. Miss Alexander never acknowledged receiving it, and Burns it is well known bitterly resented her silence. Currie and Lockhart have defended the conduct of Miss Alexander, the latter writes that the song is "conceived in a strain of luxurious fervour, which certainly, coming from a man of Burns's station and character, must have sounded very strangely in a delicate maiden's ear." (Life. 8vo. p. 128.) This remark of Mr. Lockhart's has much similarity to Dr. Currie's; but if these excellent biographers could defend the silence of Miss Alexander, why did they not account for her after conduct, when the poet's head was in the grave, the lady then carried the song about wherever she went, and to her last hour regarded it as an heir-loom in the house of Alexander. (Burns' Works, iv. p. 48.) Mr. Cunningham has made no defence for the lady-indeed it is difficult to defend her silence with any justice. Though the works of the poet were then published, he was little known, and the notice of a family like the Alexanders, would have been of great benefit, in lifting him from the low rank in which he was born. A lady in the same part of the country, Mrs. General Stewart, of Stair and Aftonof equal or greater opulence and station than the Alexanders, had already noticed him, and Burns was always thirsting for distinction, his great desire, he wrote to Dr. Moore, was to be thought a very clever fellow. Mrs. Dunlop, one of Burns' best friends, viewed the circumstance in the same light as Dr. Currie and Lockhart have done. The poet was complaining before the lady of Miss Alexander's coldness and neglect, "How could you," said Mrs, Dunlop, "expect a lady to acknowledge a poem written so freely and so warmly." Burns rose up from where he was sitting, and striking the shoulder of Major Dunlop, the lady's son, cried, "Major, you shall be umpire. When a lady dresses herself in such a manner as Miss Willie Alexander does, you would imagine she coveted the notice of a man, rather than studied the delicacy of her sex. Had a half-witling lord written the poem, her vanity would have been flattered, and she would have acknowledged the compliment. Had Lord Daer written it-would it not have been answered? Curst be the verse how sweet soe'er it flow, That makes a blush on woman's cheek to glow." Burns had frequently seen Miss Alexander at church, and wandering among the braes of Ballochmyle; she was a very showy young lady. The poet acknowledged no superior, he held the patent of his honours immediately from Almighty God!] MARY MORISO N. ROBERT BURNS. O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Yestreen, when to the trembling string, I sat, but neither heard nor saw; O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, ["This song is one of my juvenile works, I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or demerits."-BURNS. "Mary Morison is one of those songs which take the deepest and most lasting hold of the mind."-HAZLITT.] THE BANKS O' DOON. ROBERT BURNS. Ye banks and braes o' honnie Doon, And I sae weary fu'o' care! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, Departed-never to return! Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine. |