Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause luver stole my rose,

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

[The lady to whose lips these very beautiful lines are given, was a Miss Kennedy of Dalgarrock, a young and beautiful girl that fell a victim to her heartless seducer, M'Douall of Logan.

I subjoin the earliest version of this favourite lyric.

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fair:
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings upon the bough;

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,

That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree,

And my fause lover staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi' me.]

GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O.

ROBERT BURNS.

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, 0:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O?

The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses,
0:
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, 0:
Her 'prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

[Upon some old fragments, now frequently printed, Burns founded this very charming and popular song.

The sentiment of the last verse though not new, is as Mr. Cun. ningham says, "the richest incense any poet ever offered at the shrine of beauty."]

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

ROBERT BURNS.

CHORUS.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy ?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The little birdies blithely sing,

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy?

["I composed these stanzas standing under the falls of Aberfeldy, at, or near, Moness," (in Perthshire).-BURNS.

The chorus of the song is old.]

THE DAY RETURNS.

ROBERT BURNS.

The day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet,
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd,
Ne'er summer-sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,

And crosses o'er the sultry line;

Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more-it made thee mine!

While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,

It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.

[The seventh of November was the anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Riddell, of Friars-Carse; and these verses were com. posed in compliment to the day. "One of the most tolerable things I have done in the way of song, is two stanzas I made to an air for a musical gentleman of my acquaintance, composed for the anniversary of his wedding day."-BURNS.]