THE CHEERLESS SOUL.

TUNE

-"Jockey's Gray Breeks."

AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
In vain to me in glen or shaw,

The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;

But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims,

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry;
The stately swan majestic swims,
And everything is blest but I.

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorland whistles shrill; Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A wo-worn ghaist, I hameward glide.

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And, raging, bend the naked tree, Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless sou When Nature all is sad like me!

O MARY, at thy window be,

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,

That make the miser's treasure poor;
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison

Yestreen, when to the trembling string,
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,-

I sat, but neither heard nor saw!
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,

And you the toast of a' the town,

I sigh'd, and said amang them a', "Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake would gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only fault is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be,
The thought o' Mary Morison.

WHERE are the joys that I've met in the morning, That danc'd to the lark's early song?

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring, At evening, the wild woods among?

No more a-winding the course of yon river,
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair;
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
But sorrow and sad sighing care.

Is it that Summer's forsaken our valleys,
And grim, surly Winter is near?

No, no! the bees humming round the gay roses,
Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long too well have I known

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow:

Come then, enamor'd and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my wo.

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.

TUNE-"Where'll bonie Ann lie?" Or, "Loch Eroch side."

O STAY, Sweet-warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray;

A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.

Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,

And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' wo could wauken.

Thou tells of never-ending care;
O' speechless grief and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair
Or my poor heart is broken'

FRAGMENT,

IN WITHERSPOON'S COLLECTION OF SCOT'S SONGS.

AIR

16

Hughie Graham."

O WERE my love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;
And I a bird to shelter there,

When wearied on my little wing:

How wad I mourn when it was torn
By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,

When youthful May its bloom renew'd.*

"O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',

And I mysel' a drap o' dew

Into her bonie breast to fa'!

"O, there beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light."

These stanzas were prefixed by Burns.