Northern languages enabled him to share with Walter Scott and Henry Weber the editorship of a work entitled "Illustrations of Northern Antiquities from the Earlier Teutonic and Scandinavian Romances," a copy of which, presented by him to the Editor's father, now

lies before us. He also edited an edition of Burt's "Letters from the North of Scotland." In his "Popular Ballads" are found a number of original songs composed in early life, the merit of which, and of his poetical translations, entitles Jamieson to a place in this Collection.

SIR OLUF AND THE ELF-KING'S DAUGHTER.

(FROM THE DANISH.)

Sir Oluf the hend has ridden sae wide,
All unto his bridal feast to bid.

And lightly the elves, sae feat and free, They dance all under the greenwood tree. And there danced four, and there danced five; The elf-king's daughter she reekit bilive. Her hand to Sir Oluf, sae fair and free; "O welcome, Sir Oluf, come dance wi' me! "O welcome, Sir Oluf! now lat thy love gae, And tread wi' me in the dance sae gay." "To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may; The morn it is my bridal day."

"O come, Sir Oluf, and dance wi' me;
Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee;
"Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fair,
Wi' gilded spurs sae rich and rare.
"And hear ye, Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me;
And a silken sark I'll give to thee;

"A silken sark, sae white and fine,

That my mother bleached in the moonshine."

"I darena, I maunna come dance wi' thee; For the morn my bridal day maun be."

"O hear ye, Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me, And a helmet o' gowd I'll give to thee."

"A helmet o' gowd I well may hae;

But dance wi' thee, ne dare I, ne may." "And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me? Then sickness and pain shall follow thee!" She's smitten Sir Oluf-it strak to his heart; He never before had kent sic a smart;

Then lifted him up on his ambler red; "And now, Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride."

And whan he came till the castell yett,
His mither she stood and leant thereat.

"O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my ain dear son, Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan?" "O well may my lire be wan and blae, For I hae been in the elf-woman's play." "O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my son, my pride, And what shall I say to thy young bride?" "Ye'll say that I've ridden but into the wood, To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." Ear on the morn, when night was gane, The bride she cam' wi' the bridal train.

They skinked the mead, and they skinked the wine:

"O whare is Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?" "Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood,

To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good." And she took up the scarlet red,

And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead!

Ear on the morn, whan it was day,
Three likes were ta'en frae the castle away;

Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair,
And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care.
And lightly the elves sae feat and free,
They dance all under the greenwood tree!

ANNIE O' THARAW.

(FROM THE PRUSSIAN LOW DUTCH.) Annie o' Tharaw, I've waled for my fere, My life and my treasure, my gudes and my gear. Annie o' Tharaw, come weal or come wae, Has set her leal heart on me ever and aye.

Annie o' Tharaw, my riches, my gude, Ye're the saul o' my saul, ye're my flesh and my blude.

Come wind or come weather, how snell sae or cald,

We'll stand by ilk ither, and closer ay hald. Pain, sickness, oppression, and fortune unkind, Our true-love knot ay but the faster sall bind.

As the aik, by the stormy winds tossed till and fra, Ay roots him the faster, the starker they blaw;

Sae love in our hearts will wax stranger and mair, Thro' crosses and down-drug, and poortith and

care.

Should ever my fate be frae thee to be twinn'd, And wert thou whare man scarce the sun ever kenn'd,

I'll follow thro' deserts, thro' forests and seas,
Thro' ice and thro' iron, thro' armies o' facs.

Annie o' Tharaw, my light and my sun,

Sae twined our life-threads are, in ane they are spun.

Whatever I bid you's ay sure to be dane,
And what I forbid, that ye'll ay lat alane.

The love may be warm, but how lang can it stand Whare there's no ae heart, and ae tongue, and ae hand?

Wi' cangling, and wrangling, and worrying, and strife,

Just like dog and cat, live sic man and sic wife.

Annie o' Tharaw, that we'll never do,
For thou art my lammie, my chuckie, my dow.

My wish is to you ay as gude's a comman',
I lat you be gudewife, ye lat me be gudzman;
And O how sweet, Annie, our love and our lec,
Whan thou and I ae soul and body sall be!
"Twill beet our bit ingle wi' heavenly flame;
But wrangling and strife mak' a hell of a hame.

THE QUERN LILT.

The cronach stills the dowie heart,
The jurram stills the bairnie;

The music for a hungry wame
Is grinding o' the quernie!
And loes me o' my little quernie!
Grind the gradden, grind it:
We'll a' get crowdie whan it's done,
And bannocks steeve to bind it.

The married man his jay may prize,
The lover prize his arles;
But gin the quernie gangna round,
They baith will soon be careless.
Sae loes me, &c.

The whisky gars the bark o' life

Drive merrily and rarely;
But gradden is the ballast gars
It steady gang and fairly.
Then loes me, &c.

Though winter steeks the door wi' drift,
And o'er the ingle hings us;
Let but the little quernie gae,

We're blythe, whatever dings us.
Then loes me, &c.

And how it cheers the herd at e'en,
And sets his heart-strings dirlin',
When, comin' frae the hungry hill,
He hears the quernie birlin'!
Then loes me, &c.

Though sturt and stride wi' young and auld,
And flytin' but and ben be;

Let but the quernie play, they'll soon
A' lown and fidgin'-fain be.
Then loes me, &c.

MY SWEET WEE LADDIE.

O blessings attend my sweet wee laddie,
That blinks sae bonnily now on my knee;
And thousands o' blessings attend on his daddie,
Tho' far awa' now frae his babie and me.

It's aft ha'e I sitten, and sair ha'e I grutten,

Till blear'd and blinded wi' tears was my e'e; And aft I bethought me, how dearly I've bought thee;

For dear hast thou been, and dear art thou to

me.

Yet blessings attend, &c.

O lanely and weary, cauld, friendless, and dreary,
To me the wide warld's a wilderness a';
Yet still ae dear blossom I clasp to my bosom,
And oh! 'tis sae sweet-like the joy that's awa'!
And blessings attend, &c.

When thou lyest sleeping, I hang o'er thee weeping,

And bitter the tears that thy slumbers bedew; Yet thy innocence smiling, sae sweetly beguiling, Half mak's me forget that I sorrow e'er knew. And blessings attend, &c.

Then smile, my sweet laddie-O smile like thy daddie;

My heart will be light tho' the tear's in my e'e; I canna believe he will ever deceive me, Sae leal and sae kind as he kythed aye to be. And blessings attend, &c.

And O, mid my mourning to see him returning!— Wi' thee to his arms, when with rapture I flyCome weal or come wae then, nae fear I can hae

then,

And wha'll be sae blest as my babie and I! Then blessings attend, &c.

CHARLES GRAY, long known as a successful song-writer, was born at Anstruther, Fifeshire, March 10, 1782. He was the school fellow of Dr. Chalmers, and Tennant the author of "Anster Fair," who were natives of the same town. In 1805 he obtained a commission in the Woolwich division of the Royal Marines, and continued in the service for over thirty-six years, when he retired on full pay. In 1811 he published a small volume of "Poems and Songs," which was well received, and a second edition of these was issued in 1815. In 1841, on retiring from the service, he took up his residence in Edinburgh, where he soon became a favourite in society, and was well known throughout the country for his extensive knowledge of Scottish song, his enthusiasm for everything connected with it, and his tasteful,

genial, and spirited contributions to it. In the same year, in compliance with the wish of some of his much-valued friends, conveyed in the form of a "Round-robin," he published his collected pieces in an elegant volume, entitled "Lays and Lyrics, by Charles Gray, F.A.S. E., Captain, Royal Marines." This volume is dedicated to his friend Professor Tennant, and contains a curious facsimile of the round-robin presented to him bearing the autographs of many of his brother poets. A Scottish reviewer, in criticizing the book, says, "Captain Gray strikes the Scottish harp with a bold and skilful hand, producing tones in accordance with the universal song of nature which will not readily be forgotten." He died after a long illness, April 13, 1851, leaving an only son, now a captain of marines.

THE LASS OF PITTENWEEM. The sun looked through an evening cloud, His golden rays glanced o'er the plain; The lark upsprung, and caroll'd loud

Her vesper hymn of sweetest strain.
Far in the east the rainbow glow'd
In painted lines of liquid light;
Now all its vivid colours show'd-
Wax'd faint-then vanish'd from the sight.

As forth I walked, in pensive mood,
Down by yon ancient abbey wall,
Gay spring her vesture had renew'd,

And loud was heard the partridge' call:
The black bird's song rang through the wood,
Rich in the red sun's parting gleam;
When fair before me, smiling, stood
The lovely lass of Pittenweem.

0, I have wandered far and wide,
And ladies seen 'neath brighter skies,
Where trees shoot up in palmy pride,
And golden domes and spires arise:-
But here is one, to my surprise,

Sweet as a youthful poet's dream;
With love enthroned in her dark eyes-
The lovely lass of Pittenweem!

"Where dost thou wander, charming maid, Now evening's shades begin to fall?""To view fair nature's face," she said, "For nature's charms are free to all!"— "Speak ever thus in nature's praise;

Thou giv'st to me a darling theme; On thee I'll lavish all my lays,

Thou lovely lass of Pittenweem!" There is a magic charm in youth,

By which the heart of age is won: That charm is innocence and truth, And beauty is its summer sun! Long may it shine on that fair face,

Where rosy health and pleasure beam; Long lend its magic spell to grace The lovely lass of Pittenweem.

WHEN AUTUMN.

When autumn has laid her sickle by,
And the stacks are theekit to haud them dry;
And the sapless leaves come down frae the trees,
And dance about in the fitfu' breeze;
And the robin again sits burd-alane,
And sings his sang on the auld peat stane;