O, wat ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'enin sun upon?
The fairest dame's in yon town

That e'enin sun is shining on.

The heroine of this fine song was Lucy Johnstonemarried to Mr. Oswald, of Auchencruive; an accomplished and lovely woman, who died early in life. This beautiful burst of poetic sensibility will convey no unjust image of her attractions to succeeding generations. The song is written in the character of her husband.-" Did you ever, my dear Syme," said the Poet, " meet with a man who owed more to the divine Giver of all good things than Mr. Oswald? A fine fortune; a pleasing exterior; self-evident amiable dispositions, and an ingenuous, upright mind—and that, too, informed much beyond the usual run of young fellows of his rank; and to all this, such a woman!-But of her I shall say nothing at all, in despair of saying any thing adequate. In my song I have endeavoured to do justice to what would be his feelings on seeing, in the scene I have drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. As I am a good deal pleased with my performance, I, in my first fervour, thought of sending it to Mrs. Oswald." What the Bard hesitated to do for himself, was done by Syme; it has not been told how the lady received the rich incense offered to her beauty. She was rich and liberal, and might have regarded the song as a portrait of herself by a first-rate painter— worthy at least of acknowledgment.

O MAY, THY MORN.

Tune-" May, thy Morn.”

I.

O MAY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet
As the mirk night o' December;
For sparkling was the rosy wine,
And private was the chamber:
And dear was she I dare na name,
But I will ay remember.

And dear was she I dare na name,

But I will ay remember.

II.

And here's to them, that, like oursel, Can push about the jorum ;

And here's to them that wish us weel,
May a' that's guid watch o'er them!

And here's to them, we dare na tell,
The dearest o' the quorum.

And here's to them, we dare na tell,

The dearest o' the quorum!

The lady, whom the Poet desired rather to remember than name, is said, in our lyrical legends, to be the fair Clarinda, of whose merits Burns has said and

sung so much. This is, perhaps, rather conjecture than reality; for it has been ascribed to the charms of a Nithsdale dame, "who brewed gude ale for gentlemen," and loved to be admired by her customers. It is quite as possible that it sprung from imaginary gaddings of the muse; for though Burns, in the first outburst of song in the morning of life had living models in his eye, he became a more expert artist as he grew older, and conceived works of genius without placing a living image before him. The song was first published in Johnson's Museum: the air seems a variation of "Andro and his cutty gun."

The ladies and wine have furnished themes for innumerable songs; and so long as the former are lovely, and the latter sparkles, they will continue to be sung. Both are united in "O May, thy morn:" the Bard, as the winecup circulates, remembers a mirk night in December, and a fair one who rendered it cheerful. He dates joy from that night, as a free heroine in Mackenzie's tale dates all things which befel her from the time she met with her misfortune!

LOVELY POLLY STEWART.

Tune-" Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart."

I.

O LOVELY Polly Stewart!

O charming Polly Stewart!

There's not a flower that blooms in May
That's half so fair as thou art.

The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's,
And art can ne'er renew it;

But worth and truth eternal youth

Will give to Polly Stewart.

II.

May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms

Possess a leal and true heart;

To him be given to ken the heaven

He grasps in Polly Stewart.

O lovely Polly Stewart!

O charming Polly Stewart!

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May That's half so sweet as thou art.

The lady who inspired this song was unconscious at the time, while she caused her table to be spread, and her wine poured out, that her name was to be preserved in undying verse. The Poet had, in his thoughts, a jacobite lyric, called "You're welcome, Charlie Stewart :"

"Had I the power as I've the will,
I'd make thee famous by my quill,
Thy foes I'd scatter, quell, and kill,
From Billingsgate to Duart.
Thou'rt welcome, Charlie Stewart;
Thou'rt welcome, Charlie Stewart;
A shepherd's wand will grow a brand
When thou comes-Charlie Stewart!"

Songs to this air, and breathing a similar strain of sentiment, are numerous :

"O dreary loneliness is now

Many ruined shealings smoking;
Yet the new-made widow sits and sings,
While her boy-bairns she's rocking:
On Darien think-think on Glenco,

On Murray, traitor coward;

On Cumberland's blood-blushing hands,

And think on Charlie Stewart."

This verse seems in the spirit of the dying Highlander's reply, when the priest, desiring him to forgive his enemies, quoted the words of Scripture "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord."—" Aye, aye, say ye so?" said the clansman, "it is e'en owre sweet a morsel for a mortal!"