When Love and Beauty heard the news, The gay green-woods amang, man, Where, gathering flowers and busking bowers,

They heard the blackbird's sang, man; A vow, they sealed it with a kiss,

Sir Politics to fetter,

As theirs alone, the patent bliss, To hold a fête champêtre.

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing;

O'er hill and dale she flew, man;
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring,
Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man :
She summoned every social sprite,

That sports by wood or water,
On the bonnie banks of Ayr to meet,
And keep this fête champêtre.

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, Were bound to stakes like kye, man; And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu',

Clamb up the starry sky, man: Reflected beams dwell in the streams, Or down the current shatter; The western breeze steals through the

trees

To view this fête champêtre.

How many a robe sae gaily floats! What sparkling jewels glance, man, To Harmony's enchanting notes,

As moves the mazy dance, man! The echoing wood, the winding flood, Like Paradise did glitter, When angels met, at Adam's yett, To hold their fête champêtre.

When Politics came there, to mix

And make his ether-stane, man! He circled round the magic ground,

But entrance found he nane, man:

He blushed for shame, he quat his name,
Forswore it every letter,

Wi' humble prayer to join and share
This festive fête champêtre.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA'.

here

[In this form a modified snatch of an old Jacobite song redivivus, was contributed by Burns to Johnson's Museum. It appeared in that collection as a chorus with one stanza, prefixed to the song in its complete form, as first published posthumously, in the January of 1818, in the pages of the Scots Magazine, from the Poet's own manuscript.]

Tune-"Here's a health to them that 's awa'!"

HERE's a health to them that's awa'!
Here's a health to them that's awa'!
Here's a health to them that were here
short syne,

But canna be here the day!
It's guid to be merry and wise,

It's guid to be honest and true;
It 's guid to be aff wi' the auld love
Before ye be on wi' the new.

Here's a health to them that's awa'! Here's a health to them that 's awa'! And wha winna wish guid luck to our

cause,

May never guid luck be their fa'! It's guid to be merry and wise,

It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that 's awa'!

Here's a health to them that's awa'! Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan,

Although that his band be but sma'!

May Liberty meet wi' success!

May prudence protect her frae evil! May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil!

Here's a health to them that 's awa'!

Here's a health to them that 's awa'! Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie,

That lives at the lug o' the law! Here's freedom to him that wad read! Here's freedom to him that wad

write!

There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard

But they wham the truth wad indite.

Here's a health to them that 's awa'! Here's a health to them that 's awa'! Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain

worth gowd,

It was na sae in the Highland hills,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me.

For then I had a score o' kye,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Feeding on yon hills so high, And giving milk to me.

And there I had threescore o' yowes,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie !
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

I was the happiest of a' the clan,— Sair, sair may I repine;

For Donald was the brawest man, And Donald he was mine.

snaw!

Here's a health to them that's awa'!

Here's a health to them that 's awa'! And wha winna wish guid luck to our

cause,

May never guid luck be their fa'!

Sae far to set us free;

My Donald's arm was wanted then For Scotland and for me.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell? Right to the wrang did yield: My Donald and his country fell Upon Culloden-field.

Och-on, O Donald, O!

Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

MENT.

[This is a Jacobite ballad, so translated by Burns from the Gaelic that it has become the Poet's own by right of conquest.]

OH! I am come to the low countrie,

Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Without a penny in my purse

To buy a meal to me.

Sae wretched now as me.

MEG O' THE MILL..

[Under this title Burns contributed, first of all to Johnson's Museum, a rough-and-ready version by himself of an old song, descriptive, coarsely enough in the original, of a drunken wedding. Afterwards, in the April of 1793, he elaborated those more careless touches of his in the way of emendation into what he regarded as one of his happiest ditties, transmitting it in its new shape to Thomson for his collection.

Tune--" Jockie Hume's Lament," or "O bonnie

lass, will you lie in a barrack?"

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?

An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?

She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller.

And broken the heart o' the barley miller.

The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy,

A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady:

The laird was a widdiefu' bleerit knurl; She's left the good fellow and ta'en the churl.

The miller he hecht her a heart leal and

loving;

The laird did address her wi' matter more moving,

A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chainèd bridle,

A whip by her side, and a bonnie sidesaddle.

TO GENERAL DUMOURIER.

[When General Dumourier, on the 5th of April, 1793, after gaining more than one signal victory over the foes of France, suddenly deserted the Republic to join the allied forces under the Duke of Brunswick, the news of his desertion, spreading like wildfire over Europe, excited in all directions a phrenzy of mingled applause and indignation. Startled by hearing the traitor vindicated one day by a stranger in the King's few minutes afterwards muttering to himself the Arms Inn at Dumfries, Burns was overheard a following improvised parody on Robin Adair.]

Tune-"Robin Adair."

YOU'RE Welcome to despots, Dumou rier;

You're welcome to despots, Dumou rier.

How does Dampiere do?

Ay, and Bournonville too? Why did they not come along with you, Dumourier?

I will fight France with you, Dumourier;

I will fight France with you, Dumou

rier ;

I will fight France with you,

I will take my chance with you; By my soul, I'll dance a dance with you, Dumourier!

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ;
Then let us fight about, Dumourier;
Then let us fight about,
Till freedom's spark is out,

mailen !

A tocher's nae word in a true lover's

parle ;

But gi'e me my love, and a fig for the

warl'!

Dumourier !

BONNIE PEG-A-RAMSAY.

[The chrysalis of an old song has here again broken and taken wings to itself under the glance of Burns. All that is remembered of the ancient ditty now is a solitary couplet telling how "Bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay, as any man may see, has a bonnie sweet face and a gleg wanton e'e."] Tune-"Cauld is the e'enin' blast."

CAULD is the e'enin' blast

O' Boreas o'er the pool, And dawin' it is dreary

When birks are bare at Yule.

O, cauld blaws the e'enin' blast

When bitter bites the frost, And in the mirk and dreary drift The hills and glens are lost.

Ne'er sae murky blew the night
That drifted o'er the hill,
But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay
Gat grist to her mill.

—0—

THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS.

[This is a mere snatch of song adapted by Burns to the music of a slow march, and sounding in its adaptation very effectively.]

THERE was a bonnie lass,

And a bonnie, bonnie lass,

O, MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET.

[This was the last contribution by Burns to the Musical Museum of Johnson. Mally is traditionally said to have been a beautiful rustic maiden, who attracted the Poet's attention one day as she tripped along the High Street of Dumfries, barefooted, carrying in her hands her huddled up shoes and stockings.]

As I was walking up the street,

A barefit maid I chanced to meet;
But O, the road was very hard

For that fair maiden's tender feet.
O, Mally's meek, Mally 's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet,
Mally rare, Mally's fair,
Mally's every way complete.

It were mair meet that those fine feet
Were weel laced up in silken shoon,
And 't were more fit that she should sit
Within yon chariot gilt aboon.
O, Mally's meek, &c.

Her yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck;

And her two eyes, like stars in skies, Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. O, Mally's meek, Mally 's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet, Mally's rare, Mally 's fair,

Mally 's every way complete.

Every pulse along my veins, Every roving fancy.

To thy bosom lay my heart,

There to throb and languish : Though despair had wrung its core, That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,

Rich with balmy treasure: Turn away thine eyes of love,

Lest I die with pleasure.

What is life when wanting love?

Night without a morning: Love's the cloudless summer sun, Nature gay adorning.

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

[Invasion from France being threatened in 1795, Burns, together with his friends Syme, Staig, and Maxweil, was enrolled in the Gentlemen Volunteers of Dumfries. Upon returning home, on the very day of his enrolment, he wrote the following stanzas, which, helped into popularity by a stirring air, spread at once, like wild fire, all over the kingdom.]

Tune-" Push about the jorum."

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the louns beware, sir!
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, sir.

The Nith shall rin to Corsincon,
The Criffel sink in Solway,

Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally!
We'll ne'er permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally.

O, let us not, like snarling curs,
In wrangling be divided;
Till, slap! comes in an unco loun,
And wi' a rung decide it.

Be Britain still to Britain true,

Amang oursel's united;
For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!
For never, &c.

The kettle o' the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in 't;
But de'il a foreign tinkler loun
Shall ever ca' a nail in 't.
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it?
By heavens the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!

By heavens! &c.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch, his true-sworn bro

ther,

Wha would set the mob aboon the throne,

May they be damned together! Wha will not sing "God save the King!"

Shall hang as high 's the steeple ; But while we sing "God save the King!"

We'll ne'er forget the People.

But while we sing "God save the

King!"

We'll ne'er forget the People.

DAMON AND SYLVIA.

[This little atom of verse was published first of all, in its present shape, in the January number for 1818 of the Edinburgh Magazine.]

Tune-"The tither morn, as I forlorn." YON wandering rill, that marks the hill, And glances o'er the brae, sir, Slides by a bower where mony a flower Sheds fragrance on the day, sir.