Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Hae passed atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part,
That night she gaed awa'!
The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean.

APPENDIX.

ADDITIONAL STANZAS OF THE VISION."

N a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, of January 15, 1787, Burns speaks of certain stanzas of The Vision which he had omitted from the printed copy. A manuscript of ten leaves, in Burns's handwriting, has been preserved, which contains The Vision unabridged, as it stood in 1786 - The Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast-The Lass of Ballochmyle My Nannie, O-Handsome Nell-Song in the Character of a Ruined Farmer - Song, Though Cruel Fate should bid us Part-and Misgivings of Despondency on the Approach of the Gloomy Monarch of the Grave; all of them being poems which did not appear in the first edition, but most of which were inserted in the Edinburgh, or second edition. From allusions, the MS. was undoubtedly written after July, 1786, and before the Edinburgh edition came out. By the liberality of Mr. Dick, bookseller, Ayr, present proprietor of the MS., we are enabled to present such portions of its contents as have not seen the light.

After 18th stanza of printed copies:

With secret throes I marked that earth,
That cottage, witness of my birth;

And near I saw, bold issuing forth

In youthful pride,

A Lindsay, race of noble worth,

Famed far and wide.

Where, hid behind a spreading wood,
An ancient Pict-built mansion stood,
I spied, among an angel brood,

A female pair;

Sweet shone their high maternal blood,
And father's air.

An ancient tower to memory brought
How Dettingen's bold hero fought;
Still far from sinking into nought,
It owns a lord

Who "far in western" climates fought,
With trusty sword.

1

There, where a sceptred Pictish shade
Stalked round his ashes lowly laid,
I saw a martial race portrayed
In colours strong;

Bold, sodger-featured, undismayed,
They stalked along.

Among the rest I well could spy
One gallant, graceful, martial boy,
The sodger sparkled in his eye,
A diamond water;

I blest that noble badge with joy
That owned me frater.

After the 20th stanza:

Near by arose a mansion fine,
The seat of many a muse divine;
Not rustic muses such as mine,

With holly crowned,

But th' ancient, tuneful, laurelled Nine,
From classic ground.

I mourned the card that Fortune dealt,
To see where bonny Whitefoords dwelt;
But other prospects made me melt,

That village near;

There Nature, Friendship, Love I felt,

Fond-mingling dear.

Hail! Nature's pang, more strong than death!
Warm friendship's glow, like kindling wrath!
Love, dearer than the parting breath

"Not even

Of dying friend!

"with life's wild devious path,
Your force shall end!

The power that gave the soft alarms,
In blooming Whitefoord's rosy charms,
Still threats the tiny-feathered arms,
The barbèd dart,

While lovely Wilhelmina warms

The coldest heart.

After the 21st:

Where Lugar leaves his moorland plaid,
Where lately Want was idly laid,
I marked busy, bustling Trade,

In fervid flame,

Beneath a patroness's aid,

Of noble name;

While countless hills I could survey,
And countless flocks as well as they;
But other scenes did charms display,
That better please,

Where polished manners dwelt with Gray
In rural ease.

Where Cessnock pours with gurgling sound,
And Irwine, marking out the bound,
Enamoured of the scenes around,

Slow runs his race,

A name I doubly honoured found,

With knightly grace.

Brydone's brave ward, I saw him stand,
Fame humbly offering her hand;
And near his kinsman's rustic band,
With one accord,

Lamenting their late blessed land
Must change its lord.

The owner of a pleasant spot,
Near sandy wilds I did him note;
A heart too warm, a pulse too hot,
At times o'erran;

But large in every feature wrote,

Appeared the man.

SONG,

IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED FARMER.

TUNE - Go from my window, Love, do.

THE

sun he is sunk in the west, All creatures retirèd to rest, While here I sit all sore beset

With sorrow, grief, and wo;

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

The prosperous man is asleep,

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep;
But Misery and I must watch

The surly tempest blow:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lies the dear partner of my breast,
Her cares for a moment at rest:

Must I see thee, my youthful pride,

Thus brought so very low!

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

There lie my sweet babies in her arms,
No anxious fear their little heart alarms;
But for their sake my heart doth ache,
With many a bitter throe:
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

I once was by Fortune carest,
I once could relieve the distrest:

Now, life's poor support hardly earned,
My fate will scarce bestow:

And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!

No comfort, no comfort I have!
How welcome to me were the grave!
But then my wife and children dear,
O whither would they go?
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O!