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 anang the heather,
O'er the moor amang the heather;
There I met a bònnie 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 amang 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!

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 Glover, a girl who was not only a whore but a thief, and in one or other character had visited most of the Correction Houses in the west. She was born I believe in Kilmarnock. I took the song down 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.]

ROSLIN CASTLE.

RICHARD HEWIT.

"Twas in that season of the year,
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.

Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nanny rung;
While Roslin Castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.

Awake, sweet Muse! the breathing spring,
With rapture warms; awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song;
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay,
O bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!

O, hark, my love! on ev'ry spray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes;
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.

O come my love! thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls, O come away

Come while the muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine,

O hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,

And charm this ravish'd heart of mine.

["These beautiful verses were the production of a Richard Hewit, a young man that Dr. Blacklock, to whom I am indebted for the anecdote, kept for some years as an amanuensis."-BURNS. From Herd's Collection, 1769.]

MY GODDESS, WOMAN.

JOHN LEARMONT.

Of mighty Nature's handy-works,

The common or uncommon,
There's nought through a' her limits wide
Can be compared to woman.
The farmer's toils, the merchant trokes,
From dawing to the gloamin;
The farmer cares, the merchant's toils,
Are a' to please thee, woman

The sailor spreads the daring sail,

Through billows chafed and foaming,

For gems and gold and jewels rare.
To please thee, lovely woman.
The soldier fights o'er crimson'd fields,
In distant climates roaming;

But lays, wi' pride, his laurels down,

Before thee, conquering woman.