"The whole course of the Ayr," says Currie, "is fine; but the banks of that river, as it bends to the eastward above Mauchline, are singularly beautiful; and they were frequented, as may be imagined, by our Poet in his solitary walks. Here the muse often visited him. In one of those wanderings he met among the woods a celebrated beauty of the west of Scotland; a lady of whom it is said that the charms of her person corresponded with the character of her mind. This incident gave rise, as might be expected, to a poem, of which an account will be found in the following letter, in which he enclosed it to the object of his inspiration."

The letter is dated November 18, 1786: it intimates that the song of the Lass of Ballochmyle was nearly taken from real life." Though I dare say, Madam," observes the Poet, you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the poetic réveur as he wandered by you. I had roved out as chance directed in the favourite haunts of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over the distant western hills: not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. Such was the scene, and such the hourwhen, in a corner of my prospect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic landscape or met a poet's eye. Had Calumny or Villany taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with such an object. The enclosed song was the work of my return home; and perhaps it but poorly answers what might have been expected from such a scene."

Fair friends and anxious biographers have endeavoured

to defend Miss Alexander-the lass of Ballochmyle— from the imputation of neglect recorded by the Poet against her; her silence wounded his self-love. She was very young, say the former, and almost a stranger in the land; and she might not know, say the latter, that the muse of Tibullus breathed in this rustic poet; and she might be offended at the audacity of his strains. To the first it may be answered that the Poet met this beauty of the west among the woods in June, and sent her the poem in November : she was not, therefore, quite a stranger; and to the other it may be said, that if she failed to perceive the merit of the song at first, her taste improved by time, for she lived to admire it so much that she carried it about with her wherever she went, and looked upon it as a sort of charm to preserve her name to future generations.

The Poet bestowed more than common pains on this lyric-the manuscript offers but few variations. The conclusion of the second verse, in one of the copies, reads thus:

"The lily's hue and rose's dye

Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle."

THE GLOOMY NIGHT.

Tune-" Roslin Castle."

I.

THE gloomy night is gath'ring fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain ;
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure ;
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.

II.

The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn, By early winter's ravage torn;

Across her placid, azure sky,

She sees the scowling tempest fly :
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave—
I think upon the stormy wave,
Where many a danger I must dare,
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.

III.

'Tis not the surging billow's roar,
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore;
Tho' death in ev'ry shape appear,

The wretched have no more to fear!

d;

But round my heart the ties are bound,
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear,

To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.

IV.

Farewell old Coila's hills and dales,
Her heathy moors and winding vales;
The scenes where wretched fancy roves,
Pursuing past, unhappy loves!
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes!
My peace with these, my love with those-
The bursting tears my heart declare ;
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr!

The history of this affecting lyric is related by the author." I had been for some time skulking from covert to covert under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends my chest was on the road to Greenock, and

I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia

The gloomy night is gath'ring fast ;'

when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition." Professor Walker adds some interesting touches to the Poet's account.-"I requested him to communicate some of his unpublished poems; and he recited his farewell song to the Banks of Ayr, introducing it with a description of the circumstances in which it was composed, more striking than the poem itself. He had left Dr. Laurie's family, after a visit, which he expected to be the last, and on his way home had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. His mind was strongly affected by parting for ever with a scene where he had tasted so much elegant and social pleasure; and, depressed by the contrasted gloom of his prospects, the aspect of nature harmonized with his feelings: it was a lowering and heavy evening in the end of autumn. The wind was up and whistled through the rushes and long spear-grass which bent before it. The clouds were driving across the sky; and cold pelting showers at intervals added discomfort of body to cheerlessness of mind. Under these circumstances, and in this frame, Burns composed his poem."