Ramsay's collection, and from the place which it obtained, I conclude that Allan was more than half advanced with his work before he received it. There is a curious mixture of naïveté and simplicity, of smartness of remark and lively painting, from beginning to end of the song. Public attention has lately been called to the conduct of this admirable lady by the publication of her family history-she shines as a wife and a daughter, as well as a poetess.

MYRA.

O thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,

The pensive shadows of the grove :
O, mix their bounteous beams with mine,
And let us interchange our hearts;

Let all their sweetness on me shine,
Pour'd through my soul be all their darts!

Ah! 'tis too much, I cannot bear

At once so soft, so keen a ray;

In pity, then, my lovely fair,

O turn those killing eyes away!
But what avails it to conceal

One charm, where nought but charms I see!
Their lustre then again reveal,

And let me, Myra, die of thee.

M

Thomson, with a prudence which few of the children of the Muse regard, was ever looking forward to some sunny moment when Fortune would equal his merit by her bounty. In his songs he protects himself from the immediate consequences of unguarded expressions, by complaining of her injustice :

'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate, I love a maid who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate,

Inhuman Fortune keeps her from mine arms.

His love was of a gentle and considerate kind. He never was so much enraptured as to forget he was poor. Myra's beauty excelled her good name.

NOW PHOEBUS ADVANCES ON HIGH.

Now Phoebus advances on high,
Nae footsteps of winter are seen,

The birds carol sweet in the sky,

And lambkins dance reels on the green.
Through plantings, and burnies sae clear,
We wander for pleasure and health,
Where buddings and blossoms appear,
With prospects of joy and of wealth.

Go view the gay scenes all around,
That are, and that promise to be;
Yet in them a' naething is found
Sae perfect, Eliza, as thee.
Thy een the clear fountains excel,

Thy locks they outrival the grove;
When zephyrs thus pleasingly swell,
Ilk wave makes a captive to love.

The roses and lilies combin'd,

And flowers of maist delicate hue,
By thy cheek and dear breasts are outshin'd,
Their tinctures are naething sae true.

What can we compare with thy voice,
And what with thy humour sae sweet?

Nae music can bless with sic joys;
Sure angels are just sae complete.

Fair blossom of ilka delight,

Whose beauties ten thousand outshine:
Thy sweet shall be lasting and bright,
Being mix'd with sae many divine.
Ye powers, who have given sic charms
To Eliza, your image below,

O save her frae all human harms!

And make her hours happily flow.

Ramsay wrote this song to the old air of "Sae merry as we twa hae been ;" and if we may believe in the antiquity of the chorus, elsewhere printed in this work,

there can be no doubt that he departed very far from the peculiar character of the ancient song. Allan was a man of such a joyous temperament, that he sometimes saw joy where others might see sorrow; and he certainly shared very moderately in that humour for weeping which has shed so much water through our modern compositions. To those who can feel a sad as well as a pleasant spirit in this air, the two songs may be acceptable. Ramsay's will teach us to enjoy what the other will teach us to despise.

O'ER THE MUIR TO MAGGY.

And I'll o'er the muir to Maggy,

Her wit and sweetness call me ;
Then to my fair I'll show my mind,
Whatever may befal me:

If she love mirth, I'll learn to sing;
Or likes the Nine to follow,
I'll lay my lugs in Pindus spring,
And invocate Apollo.

If she admire a martial mind,

I'll sheath my limbs in armour;
If to the softer dance inclin'd,
With gayest airs I'll charm her:

If she love grandeur, day and night

I'll plot my nation's glory,
Find favour in my prince's sight,

And shine in future story...

Beauty can wonders work with ease,
Where wit is corresponding,
And bravest men know best to please,
With complaisance abounding.
My bonny Maggy's love can turn
Me to what shape she pleases,
If in her breast that flame shall burn,
Which in my bosom bleezes.

This is a pleasing effusion of Allan Ramsay's Muse, and has been composed in one of her happiest moods. The unwearied affection of the lover is free from whining sentiment and quaint conceit. Much older verses than these were once popular, and bore the same name; but they were less delicate than witty, and have been deservedly forgotten. Ramsay's song is a favouritefew ladies hearts could withstand a lover of such gifts and endowments-who gratified their pride by his personal homage, and their vanity by romantic promises which could not well be fulfilled.