For if they do, oh! cruel thou
Wilt [them] abuse and care not how !
Balow, my boy, &c.

was too cred'lous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love;

But quick as thought the change is wrought,

Thy love no more, thy promise nought.
Balow, my boy, &c.

I wish I were a maid again!
From young men's flattery I'd refain;
For now unto my grief I find,
They all are perjured and unkind.
Balow, my child, thy mother mild,
Shall wail, as from all bliss exiled.
Balow, my boy, &c.

Balow, my boy, weep not for me,
Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee.
Nor pity her deserved smart,

Who can blame none but her fond heart;
For too soon trusting latest finds,
With fariest tongues are falsest minds.
Balow, my boy, &c.

Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,
When he the thriftless son had played;
Of vows and oaths forgetful, he
Preferred the wars to thee and me.
But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine
Make him eat acorns with the swine.

Balow, my boy, &c.

But curse not him; perhaps now he,
Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:
Perhaps at death; for who can tell
Whether the Judge of heaven and hell,
By some proud foe has struck the blow,
And laid the dear deceiver low?
Balow, my boy, &c.

I wish I were into the bounds,
Where he lyes smothered in his wounds,
Repeating, as he pants for air,

My name, whom once he called his fair;
No woman's yet so fiercely set
Bu she'll forgive, though not forget.
Balow, my boy, &c.

Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee;
Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me :
Thy griefs are growing to a sum,
God grant thee patience when they come;
Born to sustain thy mother's shame,
A hapless fate, a bastard's name.
Balow, my boy, &c.

WHERE HELEN LIES.

I wish I were where Helen lies,
For night and day on me she cries,
I wish I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.

Curst be the hand that shot the shot, Likewise the gun that ga'e the crack, Into my arms Burd Helen lap,

And died for love o' me.

Oh, think na ye my heart was sair, To see her lie and speak nae mair! There did she swoon wi' mickle care, On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I loutit down, my sword did draw,
I cuttit him in pieces sma',

I cuttit him in pieces sma',
On fair Kirkconnell lee.

Oh, Helen fair, without compare,
I'll mak a garland o' thy hair,
Aud wear the same for evermair,
Until the day I dee.

I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet put ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirkconnell lee.

Oh Helen chaste, thou were modest; Were I with thee I wad be blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I wish I were where Helen lies,
For night and day on me she cries;
I wish I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell lee.

TAK' YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE.

In winter, when the rain rain'd cauld,
And frost and snaw on ilka hill,
And Boreas, wi' his blasts sae bauld,

Was threatnin' a' our kye to kill :
Then Bell, my wife, wha lo'es nae strife,
She said to me richt hastilie,
Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life,
And tak' your auld cloak about ye.

My Crummie is a usefu' cow,

And she is come of a good kin' ; Aft has she wet the bairns's mou',

And I am laith that she should tyne ; Get up, gudeman, it is fu' time,

The sun shines i' the lift sae hie; Sloth never made a gracious end; Gae tak' your auld cloak about ye.

My cloak was ance a gude gray cloak, When it was fitting for my wear; But now it's scantly worth a groat,

For I have worn't this thretty year; Let's spend the gear that we ha'e won, We little ken the day we'll die;

Then I'll be proud, since I have sworn To ha'e a new cloak about me.

In days when our King Robert rang,

His trews they cost but half a croun; He said they were a groat ower dear,

And ca'd the tailor thief and loon; He was the king that wore a croun,

And thou'rt a man of laigh degree: It's pride puts a' the country doun; Sae tak' your auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its ain lauch,

Ilk kind o' corn has its ain hool; I think the world is a' gane wrang, When ilka wife her man wad rule; Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and Hab, As they are girded gallantlie, While I sit hurklin i' the ase?I'll ha'e a new cloak about me. Gudeman, I wat 'tis thretty year Sin' we did ane anither ken; And we ha'e had atween us twa

Of lads and bonnie lasses ten: Now they are women grown and men, I wish and pray weel may they be ; If you would prove a gude husband,

E'en tak' your auld cloak about ye.

Bell, my wife, she lo'es nae strife,

But she would guide me if she can ; And to maintain an easy life,

I aft maun yield, though I'm gudeman: Nought's to be gain'd at woman's hand, Unless ye gi'e her a' the plea; Then I'll leave aff where I began,

And tak' my auld cloak about me.

birthday by Chalmers, the author of Caledonia, whose life of him, prefixed to the London edition of his works (1800), is the basis of all subsequent accounts. His father, Robert Ramsay, was manager of Lord Hopetoun's lead mines at Leadhills, an office in which he succeeded his father, of the same name, who was also a writer in Edinburgh. The latter, the poet's grandfather, was himself the grandson of Ramsay of Cockpen,1 a brother of Ramsay of Dalhousie, the chief of the name, and whose representative Allan, with clannish and pardonable vanity, addresses as

Dalhousie of an auld descent, My chief, my stoup, my ornament." He was named after his maternal grandfather, a native of Derbyshire, whom Lord Hopetoun brought to Leadhills, to teach his miners their business, and to superintend the working of the mines. Allan Bower (such was his name) married Janet Douglas, a daughter of Douglas of Muthill, and their daughter Alice Bower was the poet's mother; which links in his pedigree afforded him the satisfaction of recording that

"He was a poet sprung from a Douglas' loin." The writer of the notice of Ramsay in Chambers' Cyclopædia observes, that for the easy smoothness of his disposition he was indebted to his English descent. And certainly the numerous instances, since the days of " King Bruce," in which the coalescing streams of Saxon and Celtic blood have given steadiness

* The statement by Dr R. Chambers, that the first Ramsay of Cockpen was a brother of Ramsay of Dalhousie, who was knighted in 1424, makes it probable that some connecting links are wanting in the above genealogy.

and force to those in whose veins they have mingled, justify the conclusion that Ramsay owes as much to his Bower descent, of which he takes no notice, as to the line of Douglas or Dalhousie.

His father died before attaining his 25th year, when Allan was but an infant, and his mother soon afterwards married a Mr Crichton, a small landowner of the district. There is no direct account of his boyhood, the extent of his education, or the nature of his youthful employments; and what these were have to be gathered from such references in his writings as bear on these points, and what a general survey of them leads to be inferred regarding them.

It may safely be assumed that, until the time of his mother's death, which took place when he was but fifteen years of age, he attended the village school of Leadhills. Here he would obtain a fair English education, and some knowledge of Latin. He says himself that his acquaintance with the classics was too slight to admit of his enjoying them in the original; yet his fondness for the use of classic mottoes and quotations shows that he devoted some time to the study of Latin at least. His enjoyment of classic authors, and familiarity with them through translations, he frequently avows, and evinces in his works. His native district, though the most elevated inhabited spot in Scotland, and perhaps the most isolated, has long held a high character for the intelligence, industry, and sobriety of its inhabitants. It is quite in keeping with the custom of the place, and that of many more rural districts in Scotland, that he remained in school

till his fifteenth year; while, after the age of ten or thereabouts, he may have been employed looking after the sheep, or assisting the shepherds, at those seasons that require extra attention on the part of their flocks. That he was intimately familiar with every aspect of shepherd life before he left the scenes of his boyhood is obvious; yet this was quite within the reach of an observant boy in the circumstances assumed.

Allan, at the age of fifteen, was apprenticed to an Edinburgh wigmaker in 1701; and no more is heard of him till, in 1712, he marries Christian Ross, the daughter of "an inferior lawyer in Edinburgh." It is not recorded when he commenced business on his own account, but it may be presumed to have been some time before this. Neither the responsibilities nor the attractions of the change in his domestic state prevent him this same year forming one of "a band of young men of talent and vivacity," who established the "Easy Club" with the object of passing "stated evenings in free conversation and social mirth." He appears, from the minutes, to have been very regular in his attendance at the meetings, and to have made them the arena on which to test the acceptability of his earliest poetical ventures. Their reception may be judged from the fact, that in 1715 he was made Poet-Laureate to the Club, whose career was this year cut short on account of the Earl of Mar's rebellion, and the anti-union leanings of its members.

His earliest known production was written for this club, and its character justifies the conjecture that he made no serious attempt at verse writ.

ing before 1711; indeed, he implies as much himself in his letter to his friend Smibert, afterwards quoted. We have also his own authority for supposing his poetical emulation to have been first awakened by reading Watson's Choice Collection of Scots Poems, published in three parts, in 1706-9 and 11. His reading in English was principally devoted to the works of Dryden, Addison, Prior, and Pope; and when the translation of the Iliad appeared in 1718, he wrote Pope a congratulatory ode, in which he confesses to having read it three times, and each time with increased relish. Nor did he neglect the study of the literature of his native country, within whose sphere he rightly deemed his muse should chiefly confine her flight. After the suppression of the "Easy Club"-the medium through which he tested the effects of his earliest productions-he felt sufficient confidence in their popularity to have them published in separate poems, in which form they became so much read by the people of Edinburgh, that mothers were accustomed to send their children with a penny to buy "Ramsay's last piece."

His confidence grew with his success, and in 1716 he took the bold step of adding a second canto to “Christ's Kirk on the Green," the humorous poem of James I. of Scotland; which ludicrous but vigorous picture of low rural life and manners he issued with his own. His thorough acquaintance with the habits, language, and traditional customs of the class of rustics which the royal poet had sketched, enabled him to present a change of scene, in which the same actors are made to maintain their re