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ON MRS. A. H. AT A CONCERT.

Look where

my dear Hamilla smiles,
Hamilla! heavenly charmer;

See how with all their arts and wiles
The Loves and Graces arm her.
A blush dwells glowing on her cheeks,
Fair seats of youthful pleasures;
There love in smiling language speaks,
There spreads his rosy treasures.

O fairest maid, I own thy pow'r,
I gaze, I sigh, and languish,
Yet ever, ever will adore,

And triumph in my anguish.
But ease, O charmer, ease my care,
And let my torments move thee;
As thou art fairest of the fair,

So I the dearest love thee.

This is the second song which Crawford wrote for Ramsay's collection: the heroine was a Miss Ann Hamilton. It is directed to be sung to the tune of "The bonniest lass in a' the warld," the name of an ancient song as well as an old air: and as Ramsay and his " ingenious young gentlemen" have been repeatedly accused of casting away fine antique lyrics to make room

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for their own effusions, I am compelled to quote as much of the old as may vindicate the propriety of the new :

The bonniest lass in a' the warld,

Came to me unsent for,

She brake her shins on my bed-stock,
But she gat the thing she cam' for.

The song proceeds to describe the charms and allurements of this condescending beauty: but the rustic bard had not the spell of delicacy upon him, nor the fear of sin before him, when he wrote it, so I can quote no

more.

AT SETTING DAY.

At setting day and rising morn,
With soul that still shall love thee,
I'll ask of heaven thy safe return,
With all that can improve thee.
I'll visit oft the birken bush,

Where first thou kindly told me
Sweet tales of love, and hid my blush,
Whilst round thou didst infold me.

To all our haunts I will repair,

By greenwood shaw or fountain;

Or where the summer-day I'd share
With thee upon yon mountain.
There will I tell the trees and flowers,

From thoughts unfeign'd and tender,
By vows you're mine, by love is yours
A heart which cannot wander.

This very sweet song is sung by Peggy, in the " Gentle Shepherd;" and the natural thoughts and graceful expression correspond well with the love of "Maister Patrick." It is in the songs which come from Peggy's lips that Ramsay approaches nearest his other lyrics. There is a similar feeling in the following lines from the same pen :

Ye meadows where we often strayed,

Ye banks where we were wont to wander,
Sweet scented rieks round which we played,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder.
Again-Oh! shall I never creep

Around the knowe with silent duty,
Kindly to watch thee while asleep,

And wonder at thy manly beauty.

I like the delicacy and true love of these lines-and true love is not very plentiful in song. In the same natural spirit the maiden reminds her heart of its earlier feelings:

Nae mair alake, we'll on the meadow play;
And rin half breathless round the ricks of hay.

STREPHON'S PICTURE.

Ye gods! was Strephon's picture blest
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast?
Move softer, thou fond flutt'ring heart,
Oh, gently throb-too fierce thou art.
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind,
For Strephon was the bliss design'd?
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid,
Didst thou prefer his wand'ring shade?

And thou, bless'd shade, that sweetly art
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart,
For me the tender hour improve,
And softly tell how dear I love.
Ungrateful thing! it scorns to hear
Its wretched master's ardent pray'r,
Ingrossing all that beauteous heav'n,
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given.

I cannot blame thee: were I lord
Of all the wealth those breasts afford,
I'd be a miser too, nor give

An alms to keep a god alive.

Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair,

On these cold looks, that lifeless are; Prize him whose bosom glows with fire, With eager love and soft desire.

'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid!
To life can bring the silent shade:
Thou canst surpass the painter's art,
And real warmth and flames impart.
But oh! it ne'er can love like me,
I've ever loved, and loved but thee:
Then, charmer, grant my fond request,
Say thou canst love, and make me blest.

This is another of the happy complimentary lyrics of Hamilton of Bangour: it contains a passionate burst of fancy such as he has seldom equalled, for he is in general neat, and elegant, and tender, rather than impassioned:

I cannot blame thee: were I lord

Of all the wealth those breasts afford,
I'd be a miser too, nor give

An alms to keep a god alive.

It was the pastoral affectation of the times to indulge in such names as Chloe and Strephon-names which hurt the charm of the finest lyric composition; for we cannot well persuade ourselves that such personages were ever endowed with flesh and blood. The song was written to the tune of the "Fourteenth of October," the day of St. Crispin, in whose honour, or derision, a lyric bearing that name anciently existed. Chloe was probably Jeanie Stewart, of whose rigour he complains to Mr. Home, and complains unjustly, since the lady was willing and ready to reward him.

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