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Sumer is icumen in,

Lhude sing Cuccu;

Groweth sed, and bloweth med,

And springeth the wode nu;
Awe bleteth after lamb,

Lows after calue cu,

Bulluc stertes, bucke vertes,
Murie sing Cuccu.

Ritson imagines it at least as old as 1250, while Sir John Hawkins attributes it to the middle of the fifteenth century. The present song is the composition of the Rev. John Logan, and would do honour to any poet.

ALONE BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.

The day is departed, and round from the cloud
The moon in her beauty appears ;
The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud
The music of love in our ears.

Maria, appear! now the season so sweet
With the beat of the heart is in tune;
The time is so tender for lovers to meet
Alone by the light of the moon.

I cannot when present unfold what I feel:
I sigh-can a lover do more?

Her name to the shepherds I never reveal,
Yet I think of her all the day o'er.
Maria, my love! do you long for the grove?
Do you sigh for an interview soon?

Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove
Alone by the light of the moon?

Your name from the shepherds whenever I hear

My bosom is all in a glow;

Your voice, when it vibrates so sweet through mine ear,
My heart thrills-my eyes overflow.

Ye powers of the sky, will your bounty divine
Indulge a fond lover his boon?

Shall heart spring to heart, and Maria be mine,
Alone by the light of the moon?

This very sweet and elegant song is the composition of the Rev. John Logan. The association of his love with the sweetness of the season, the voice of the nightingale, and the light of the moon, is very beautiful. The nocturnal interview, to which the heroine is invited, has had charms for the sons and daughters of men in all ages.

THE BRAES OF YARROW.

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 never on thy banks shall I

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow!

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

He promis'd me a little page,

To squire me to his father's towers : He promis'd me a wedding-ring,

The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ;Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas! his watery grave, in Yarrow !

Sweet were his words when last we met,
My passion I as freely told him ;
Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought
That I should never more behold him!
Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost;

It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow!

Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.

His mother from the window look'd,

With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walk'd

The green-wood path to meet her brother: They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night,

They only heard the roar of Yarrow!

No longer from thy window look,

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! No longer walk, thou lovely maid,

Alas! thou hast no more a brother!

No longer seek him east or west,

And search no more the forest thorough;

For, wandering in the night so dark,

He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,

No other youth shall be my marrow;

I'll seek thy body in the stream,

And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.

The tear did never leave her cheek,

No other youth became her marrow;

She found his body in the stream,

And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.

The old verses of Yarrow Braes seem to have been known to Logan when he wrote this song. Though his song is very touching and tender, it fails in present

ing us with those striking natural images of female distress which affect us in the old and ruder strain. The story might be truth to the ancient bard, but it was fiction to Logan; and we cannot help feeling the difference.

ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH.

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch !

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!

Wat ye how she cheated me

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch?
She vowed, she swore she wad be mine,
Said that she lo'ed me best of ony;
But, oh! the fickle, faithless quean,
She's ta'en the carle and left her Johnie.

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!

Wat

ye how she cheated me

As I came o'er the braes of Balloch?

She was a kind and cantie queen,

Weel could she dance the highland walloch;

How happy I, had she been mine,

Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch!

Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!

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