OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

Tune-" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."

I.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :

There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair :

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

III.

O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees,

Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me
That's ay sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

IV.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Hae passed atweeen us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part,

That night she gaed awa!

The powers aboon can only ken,

To whom the heart is seen,

That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!

Burns wrote this charming song in honour of Jean Armour he adds archly in his notes-" It was during the honey-moon." The Poet published but the first and second verses: the others are added, not only on account of their beauty, but because they contain a part of the author's history, and deserve to be held in remembrance. They are generally sung by the peasantry.

FIRST WHEN MAGGY WAS MY CARE.

Tune-" Whistle o'er the lave o't."

I.

FIRST when Maggy was my care,
Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
Now we're married-spier nae mair—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.-

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child;
Wiser men than me's beguil'd—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

II.

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see;

Whistle o'er the lave o't.-
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see’t-—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

The minstrel muse of Scotland supplied this air with very merry verses, which may be read in Herd; and sometimes heard sung when the punch bowl is reeking, and

"The noise and fun grow fast and furious."

Few of the verses will bear quotations:

"She sent her daughter to the well,

Better she had gaen hersel;

She missed a foot, and down she fell

Whistle o'er the lave o't."

Burns composed his song to supersede the old versesand he succeeded. The air was composed, some hundred and odd years ago, by John Bruce, a musician, belonging to the town of Dumfries, whose merits as a player of reel tunes on the violin are still held in remembrance. Old people said that the heaviest foot became light, and the toil-bent frame erect when Bruce drew his best bow -and that he made the fiddle speak the words of the tune as plain as with a tongue. He is celebrated by John Mayne, in his poem of the “ Siller Gun.”

O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.

Tune-" My Love is lost to me.”

I.

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill!
Or had of Helicon my fill;
That I might catch poetic skill,

To sing how dear I love thee.
But Nith maun be my muse's well,
My muse maun be thy bonnie sel';
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell,
And write how dear I love thee.

II.

Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay! For a' the lee-lang simmer's day

I coudna sing, I coudna say,

How much, how dear, I love thee.

I see thee dancing o'er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een—

By heaven and earth I love thee!