LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN

Tune-"Duncan Gray."

"I HAVE been at 'Duncan Gray,"" says the poet to Thomson, "to dress it into English; but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance: "—

LET not woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain
Fickle man is apt to rove:
Look abroad through nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?

Mark the winds, and mark the skies;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go :
Why then ask of silly man
To oppose great Nature's plan?
We'll be constant while we can-

You can be no more, you know.

THE CHARMING MONTH OF MAY.

SPEAKING of the Scottish original which suggested the following, Burns says, in sending it to Thomson:-"You may think meanly of this; but if you saw the bombast of the original you would be surprised that I had made so much of it."

IT was the charming month of May,
When all the flowers were fresh and gay,
One morning, by the break of day,
The youthful, charming Chloe,
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,
And o'er the flowery mead she goes,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe,
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
The youthful, charming Chloe.

The feather'd people you might see,
Perch'd all around, on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody,

They hail the charming Chloe;

Till painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.

Tune-"Rothermurche's Rant."

"THIS piece," says the poet, "has at least the merit of being a regular pastoral; the vernal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal evening, and the winter night, are regularly rounded."

Now nature cleeds1 the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonny lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent2 the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Through yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, O.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,

I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

My youthfu' heart was stown away,
And by thy charms, my Philly.

SHE.

O Willy, aye I bless the grove
Where first I own'd my maiden love,
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above
To be my ain dear Willy.

HE.

As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear,
And charming is my Philly.

SHE.

As on the brier the budding rose
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.

HE.

The milder sun and bluer sky

That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er so welcome to my eye

As is a sight o' Philly.

SHE.

The little swallow's wanton wing,
Though wafting o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring
As meeting o' my Willy.

HE.

The bee that through the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower,
Compared wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.

SHE.

The woodbine in the dewy weet
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.

HE.

Let Fortune's wheel at random rin,

And fools may tyne, and knaves may win;

My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,

And that's my aàin dear Philly.

SHE.

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
I carena wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE.

Tune-"Lumps o' Pudding."

IN thanking Thomson for the present of a picture suggested by "The Cotter's Saturday Night," by David Allan, Burns says:-"Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present. . . . I have some thoughts of suggesting to you to prefix a vignette of me to my song, 'Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,' in order that the portrait of my face, and the picture of my mind, may go down the stream of time together."

CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie1 wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather2 wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp,3 as they're creeping alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang.

4

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;

But man is a sodger, and life is a faught;

My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch,

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa’,

A night o' guid-fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte" on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
Come ease or come travail; come pleasure or pain;
My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome again!"

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATY?

Tune-" Roy's Wife."

THE poet tells us that he composed this song during two or three turns round his room. It was specially addressed to Mrs. Riddel of Woodley Park. Between her and the poet there had been a coldness for nearly two years, a cold

1 Happy.

2 Meet.
3 Whack.

4 Flagon of ale.
5 Twelvemonth.
6 Solders.

7 Stagger and stumble.

ness entirely owing to misbehaviour on the part of the poet while under the influence of wine. Mrs. Riddel reciprocated the feeling, and sent him two poetical effusions, of some considerable merit. The poet, with the freedom characteristic of the votaries of the muse, sang of her as his mistress, and she replied in the same vein. Some parties with questionable taste have affected to believe that the poet's songs, and the lady's in return, speak to an attachment other than platonic, but there is no authority for any such supposition.

Is this thy plighted, fond reward,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
Is this thy faithful swain's regard-
An aching, broken heart, my Katy?

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou knowest my aching heart-
And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy!
Thou mayst find those will love thee dear-
But not a love like mine, my Katy !

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER-DOOR?

Tune-" Lass, an I come near thee."

THE following was suggested by an old song in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," entitled, "The Auld Man's Address to the Widow:"

WHA is that at my bower-door?

Oh, wha is it but Findlay?

Then gae yere gate,1 ye'se nae be here !-

Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay.

What mak ye sae like a thief?

Oh, come and see, quo' Findlay;

Before the morn ye'll work mischief—
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Gif I rise and let you in,—
Let me in, quo' Findlay;

Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din-
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
In my bower if ye should stay,-
Let me stay, quo' Findlay;

I fear ye'll bide till break o' day-
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

1 Way.

Remain.