TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usherest in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past;

Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

The pleasant past and melancholy present are mingled by Burns very touchingly in this song. Of Mary Campbell, to the remembrance of whose charms this lyric is attributed, much has been said; but if truth could be separated from fiction, I imagine little would still be known. The story of the poet and his love standing on each side of a small brook, and laving their hands in the stream, and vowing eternal fidelity over the bible, has been told by Mr. Cromek, a zealous inquirer into all matters illustrative of the poet's verse and personal history; and it is certainly very striking and romantic. The poet himself gives no embellished picture of their affection. "After a pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal affection, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent a day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of Autumn following she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed when she was seized with a malignant

fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." During the first year of the poet's residence at Ellisland, when the anniversary of her death arrived, he was seized with extreme dejection and agitation of mind, and, retiring from his family, he threw himself down beside a cornstack, and conceived this pathetic song to Mary in Heaven.

ANNIE.

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till, 'tween the late nd early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I kenn'd her heart was a' my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;

I kiss'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my

fond embrace;

Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly,
She aye shall bliss that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin;
I hae been joyfu' gath'ring gear;
I hae been happy thinkin:
But a' the pleasures c'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',

Amang the rigs o' barley.

The air of the "Corn-rigs," to which Burns composed this song, had, in earlier times, the burthen to bear of rude and very ridiculous verses:

very

There was a piper had a cow,

And he had nought to give her;
He took his pipes and play'd a spring,

And bade the cow consider:

The cow consider'd very well,
And gave the piper a penny
To play the same tune o'er again,
Corn rigs are bonnie.

The choice of the cow is very natural. The old song escaped the research of Herd, and the clutch of Johnson.

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;

And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither:

Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll go,

And we'll sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

Tradition has bestowed on the ancient John Anderson of Scottish song the lucrative situation of piper to the town of Kelso; no wonder, therefore, that we find him listening to the invitation of a Kelso dame to partake of a sheep's-head pie. The old verses which introduce