She crap in ayont him, beside the stane wa',
Whare Johnnie was listenin', and heard her tell a':
The day was appointed ;—his proud heart it dunted,
And strak 'gainst his side as if burstin' in twa.
He wander'd hame weary, the nicht it was dreary,
And thowless he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw:
The howlet was screeming; while Johnnie cried, "Women
Wad marry auld Nick if he'd keep them aye braw!

Oh, the deil's in the lassies! they gang now sae braw;
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' threescore and twa;
The haill o' their marriage is gowd and a carriage;
Plain love is the cauldest blast now that can blaw.
Auld dotards, be wary, tak' tent when ye marry ;
Young wives wi' their coaches, they'll whip and they'll ca',
Till they meet wi' some Johnnie that's youthfu' and bʊnnie,
And they'll gie ye horns on ilk haffit to claw."

DINNA THINK, BONNIE LASSIE.

HECTOR MACNEIL. The last verse was added by John Hamilton. On account of this addition the song was not included by Macneil in his "Poetical Works."-C. R.

Oн, dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;

I'll tak' a stick into my hand, and come again and see thec.

Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang, dark's the night and eerie;
Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang, dark's the night and eerie;
Far's the gate ye ha'e to gang, dark's the night and eerie;
Oh, stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me.

It's but a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;
But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;

But a night and hauf a day that I'll leave my dearie;

Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I'll come again and see thee.

Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me;
Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me ;
When a' the lave are sound asleep, I am dull and eerie;
And a' the lee-lang night I'm sad wi' thinking on my dearie.

Oh, dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I'm gaun to leave thee;

Whene'er the sun gaes out o' sight, I'll come again and see thee.

Waves are rising o'er the sea, winds blaw loud and fear me ;
Waves are rising o'er the sea, winds blaw loud and fear me;
While the winds and waves do roar I am wae and drearie;
And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye winna gang and leave me.

;

Oh, never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee;
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee ;
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee
E'en let the world gang as it will, I'll stay at hame and cheer thee.
Frae his hand he coost his stick-I winna gang and leave thee
Threw his plaid into the neuk-Never can I grieve thee;
Drew off his boots, and flang them by; cried, My lass, be cheerie ;
I'll kiss the tear frae aff thy cheek, and never leave my dearie,

OH, HOW COULD I VENTURE?

DR. WEBSTER. First printed in the "Scots Magazine," 1747.

OH, how could I venture to love one like thee,
And you not despise a poor conquest like me;
On lords, thy admirers, could look wi' disdain,
And knew I was naething, yet pitied my pain!

You said, while they teased you with nonsense and dress,
When real the passion, the vanity's less;

You saw through that silence which others despise,
And while beaux were a talking, read love in my eyes.

Oh, how shall I fauld thee, and kiss a' thy charms,
Till, fainting wi' pleasure, I die in your arms;
Through all the wild transports of ecstasy tost,
Till, sinking together, together we're lost!

Oh, where is the maid that like thee ne'er can cloy,
Whose wit can enliven each dull pause of joy ;
And when the short raptures are all at an end,
From beautiful mistress turn sensible friend?

In vain do I praise thee, or strive to reveal
(Too nice for expression) what only we feel:
In a' that ye do, in each look and each mien,
The Graces in waiting adorn you unseen.

When I see you, I love you; when hearing, adore;
I wonder and think you a woman no more:
Till, mad wi' admiring, I canna contain,
And kissing your lips, you turn woman again.

With thee in my bosom, how can I despair?
I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look awa' care;
I'll ask thy advice, when with troubles opprest,
Which never displeases, but always is best.
In all that I write I'll thy judgment require;
Thy wit shall correct what thy charms did inspire.
I'll kiss thee and press thee till youth is all o'er,
And then live in friendship when passion's no more.

I HAE LAID A HERRING IN SAUT.

JAMES TYTLER. Born 1747, died 1805.

I HAE laid a herring in saut-
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
I hae brew'd a forpit o' maut,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I hae a calf that will soon be a cow-
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
I hae a stook, and I'll soon hae a mowe,
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

I hae a house upon yon moor

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
Three sparrows may dance upon the moor,
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I hae a but and I hae a ben-

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
A penny to keep and a penny to spen',
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

I hae a hen wi' a happitie leg—
Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
That ilka day lays me an egg,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I hae a cheese upon my shelf-

Lass, gin ye lo'e me, tell me now;
An' soon wi' mites 'twill rin itself,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

The following, which is another version of the above, appeared in Herd's Col

lection, 1776:

I hae a herrin' in saut

Bonnie lassie, gin ye'll tak' me, tell me now;

An' I hae brewn three pickles o' maut,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo

To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo;

An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

I hae a wee calf that wad fain be a cow

Bonnie lassie, gin ye'li tak' me, tell me now;
I hae a wee gryce that wad fain be a sow,

An' I canna come ilka day to woo

To woo, to woo, to lilt and to woo;
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.

WHILE FREQUENT ON TWEED.
REV. JOHN LOGAN, born 1748, died 1788.

WHILE frequent on Tweed and on Tay,
Their harps all the Muses have strung,
Should a river more limpid than they,
The wood-fringed Esk, flow unsung?
While Nelly and Nancy inspire

The poet with pastoral strains:
Why silent the voice of the lyre

On Mary, the pride of the plains ?

Oh, nature's most beautiful bloom
May flourish unseen and unknown;
And the shadows of solitude gloom

A form that might shine on a throne.
Through the wilderness blossoms the rose,
In sweetness retired from the sight;
And Philomel warbles her woes
Alone to the ear of the night.

How often the beauty is hid

Amid shades that her triumphs deny! How often the hero forbid

From the path that conducts to the sky! A Helen has pined in the grove,

A Homer has wanted his name, Unseen in the circle of love,

Unknown to the temple of fame.

Yet let us walk forth to the stream,
Where poet ne'er wander'd before;
Enamour'd of Mary's sweet name,

How the echoes will spread to the shore! If the voice of the Muse be divine,

Thy beauties shall live in my lay;

While reflecting the forest so fine,

Sweet Esk o'er the valleys shall stray.

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

REV. JOHN LOGAN.

THY braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream,
When first on them I met my lover;
Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream,
When now thy waves his body cover!
For ever, now, O Yarrow stream!

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow;

For ever on thy banks shall I

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow!

He promised me a milk-white steed,
To bear me to his father's bowers;

He promised me a little page,

To squire me to his father's towers;

He promised me a wedding-ring

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow:

Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow!