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ROBIN AND MAKYNE.
AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL. The palm of pastoral poesy is here contested by a cotemporary writer with the author of the foregoing. Tbe reader will decide their respective merits. The author of this poem has one advantage over his rival, in having his name handed down to us.
Mr. Robert HenrySON (to whom we are indebted for it) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are forry we can give no better account of him, than what is contained in the following eloge, writ by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th century :
“ In Dumferling, he [death] hath tane Broun,
“ With gude Mr. Robert Henryfon." In Ramsey's.EverGREEN, Vol. I. whence this diffich, and the following beautiful poem are extracted, are preserved two other little Doric pieces, by Henryfon; the one intitled The LYON AND THE MOUSE ; the other, THE GARMENT OF GUDE LADYIS.
Obin fat on the gude grene hill,
Keipand a flock of fie,
v O Robin rew on me.
" Thir towmonds twa or thre :
Robin replied, Now by the rude,
Naithing of luve I knaw,
Lo quhair they raik on raw.
Thou Makyne to me schaw;
Fain wald I leir that law.
“ The law of luve gin thou wald leir,
« Tak thair an A, B, C; “ Be keynd, courtas, and fair of feir,
Wyse, hardy, kind and frie, “ Sae that nae danger do the deir,
“ What dule in dern thou drie; “ Press ay to pleis, and blyth appeir,
“ Be patient and privie."
Robin, he answert her again,
I wat not quhat is luve, But I haif marvel uncertain
Quhat makes thee thus wanrufe.
My sheep gais hail abuve,
They wald us baith repruve,
" Robin, tak tent unto my tale,
" And do all as I reid; " And thou fall haif my heart all hale, 66 Eik and my
maiden-heid : " Sen God, he sends bute for bale,
- And for murning remeid, 66 I dern with thee but give I dale,
" Doubtless I am but deid.”
Makyne, the morn be this ilk tyde,
Gif ye will meit me heir, Maybe my sheip may gang befyde,
Quhyle we have liggd full neir;
Frae thay begin to steir,
Then Makyne mak gude cheir.
“ Robin, thou reivs me of my rest;
" I luve but thee alane." Makyne, adieu ! the sun goes welt,
The day is neir-hand gane. " Robin, in dule I am so drest, 66 That luve will be
bane." Makyne, gae luve quhair eir ye lift,
For lemans I luid nane.
* Robin, I stand in fic a style,
66 I fich and that full fair.” Makyne, I have bene here this quyle,
At hame I wish I were. “ Robin, my hinny, talk and smyle,
" Gif thou will do nae mair.” Makyne, fom other man beguyle,
For hameward I will fare,
Syne Robin on his ways
As light as leif on tree;
Scho trow'd him neir to fce.
Then Makyne cried on hie, « Now may thou sing, for I am hent !
Quhat can ail luve at me?"
Makyne went hame withouten fail,
And weirylie could weip;
A fiemblit all his fieip.
Out-throw his heart could creip,
And till her tuke gude keip.
Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne,
A word for ony thing;
Is all my coveting ;
Will mister nae keiping.
“ Robin, thou haft heard sung and say,
“ In jests and storys auld, " The man that will not when he
may, " Sall have nocht when he wald. “ I pray to heaven baith nicht and day,
« Be eikd their cares fae cauld, “ That presses first with thee to play
“ Be forrest, firth, or fauld.”
Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry,
The wether warm and fair,
To walk attowre all where :
That is in luve contrair ;
Unseen may mak repair.