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they have neither passion, interest, nor character. Few women possess the faculty of construction, and Joanna Baillie was not one of these; nor had she qualities rare enough to cover the sins of a wandering story. Even in the revelation of a passion she is more occupied with the moral to be inferred than with the feeling itself, and few of her dramatis personæ are more than the means to bring the moral to its conclusion. Late in life Miss Baillie produced a book of Metrical Legends in the style of Scott, but without his fine romance and fervour, and quite at the end of her career she republished her earliest poems with the addition of some Scottish songs under the title of Fugitive Verses. The little book, with its modest name and prefaced apology, is nevertheless the most enduring of her works. Her country songs, written in the language of her early home, have the best qualities of Scottish national poetry; their simplicity, their cautious humour, endeared them at once to the national heart; they have the shrewdness and the freshness of the morning airs, the homeliness of unsophisticated feeling. Such songs as Woo'd and Married and a', The weary pund o' Tow, My Nanny O, and the lovely trysting song beginning 'The gowan glitters on the sward' are among the treasures of Scottish minstrelsy. Only less delightful than these are her earlier sketches of country life, of cottage homes on summer and on winter days, of husbandman and housewife, of lovers happy and unhappy, of idle little village girls and boys-sketches touched with a certain homely grace whose greatest charm is its sincerity. Among these poems are a series of Farewells-the melancholy, the cheerfultempered, the proud lover, each bids in turn an adieu to his mistress. Last of all comes the 'poetical or sound-hearted' lover, and even while we smile at the unusual synonym we remember how natural a truth it must have been to her that used it.
A. MARY F. ROBINSON.
THE CHOUGH AND CROW.
The chough and crow to roost are gone, The owl sits on the tree,
The hush'd wind wails with feeble moan,
The wild fire dances on the fen,
Both child and nurse are fast asleep,
High from my lady's bower;
Shrink in their murky way.
Nor board nor garner own we now,
Nor kind mate bound by holy vow
No fish stir in our heaving net,
And the sky is dark and the night is wet;
And we must ply the lusty oar,
For the tide is ebbing from the shore;
And sad are they whose faggots burn,
So kindly stored for our return.
Our boat is small, and the tempest raves,
Push bravely, mates! Our guiding star
They who may tell love's wistful tale
Love like the silent stream is found
Submit, my heart; thy lot is cast,
I feel this misery will not last,
[Version taken from an old song, Woo'd and married and a'.]
The bride she is winsome and bonny,
Her hair it is snooded sae sleek,
Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
Woo'd and married and a'!
To be woo'd and married at a'?
Her mither then hastily spak,
The gear that is gifted it never
Will last like the gear that is won.
Woo'd and married and a'!
Wi' havins and tocher sae sma'!
I think ye are very weel aff
To be woo'd and married at a'.'
'Toot, toot,' quo' her grey-headed faither,
The chiel maun be patient and steady
1 finery, lace.
8 goods and dowry.
A kerchief sae douce and sae neat
O'er her locks that the wind used to blaw! I'm baith like to laugh and to greet
When I think of her married at a'!'
Then out spak the wily bridegroom,
Though thy ruffles or ribbons be few,
Dear and dearest of ony!
Ye're woo'd and buikit and a'!
She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smiled,
The pride o' her heart was beguiled,
And she played wi' the sleeves o' her gown.
She twirled the tag o' her lace,
And she nipped her boddice sae blue,
Syne blinkit sae sweet in his face,