BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.

Tune-" Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny."

["This song," says the poet, "I composed on one of the most accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and Co.'s bank, Edin. burgh." She now lives at Pau, in the south of France.]

WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochels rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes;
As one who by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,

Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam,
With art's most polish'd blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their power!
The tyrant Death, with grim control,
May seize my fleeting breath

But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

TIBBIE DUNBAR.

Tune-"Johnny M'Gill.”

[We owe the air of this song to one Johnny M'Gill, a fiddler of Girvan, who bestowed his own name on it: and the song itself partly to Burns and partly to some unknown minstrel. They are both in the Museum.]

I care na thy daddie,
His lands and his money,
I care na thy kindred,

Sae high and sae lordly:
But say thou wilt hae me
For better for waur-
And come in thy coatie,

Sweet Tibbie Dunbar!

STREAMS THAT GLIDE IN ORIENT PLAINS.

Tune-" Morag."

[We owe these verses to the too brief visit which the poet, in 1787, made to Gordon Castle: he was hurried away, much against his will, by his moody and obstinate friend William Nicol.]

STREAMS that glide in orient plains,

Never bound by winter's chains;

Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stains

From tyranny's empurpled bands;
These, their richly gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves
The banks by Castle-Gordon.

Spicy forests, ever gay,
Shading from the burning ray

Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless native's way,

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,

I leave the tyrant and the slave,
Give me the groves that lofty brave

The storms by Castle-Gordon.

Wildly here without control,
Nature reigns and rules the whole;

In that sober pensive mood,

Dearest to the feeling soul,

She plants the forest, pours the flood,
Life's poor day I'll musing rave,

And find at night a sheltering cave,

Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonnie Castle-Gordon.

MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.

Tune-" Highlander's Lament."

["The chorus," says Burns, "I picked up from an old woman in Dumblane: the rest of the song is mine." He composed it for Johnson: the tone is Jacobitical.]

My Harry was a gallant gay,

Fu' stately strode he on the plain :
But now he's banish'd far away,

I'll never see him back again.
O for him back again!

O for him back again!

I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land
For Highland Harry back again.

When a' the lave gae to their bed,
I wander dowie up the glen;
I set me down and greet my fill,
And ay I wish him back again.

O were some villains hangit high,
And ilka body had their ain!
Then I might see the joyfu' sight,
My Highland Harry back again.
O for him back again!

O for him back again!
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land
For Highland Harry back again

THE TAILOR.

Tane-"The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'."

[The second and fourth verses are by Burns, the rest is very old; the air is also very old, and is played at trade festivals and processions by the Corporation of Tailors.]

THE Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a',

The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a';

The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma',
The Tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'.

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill,
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.

Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
The day it is short, and the night it is lang,
The dearest siller that ever I wan!

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's some that are dowie, I trow would be fain
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again.

SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME.

Tune-"Ay waukin o'."

[Tytler and Ritson unite in considering the air of these words as one of our most ancient melodies. The first verse of the song is from the hand of Burns; the rest had the benefit of his emendations: it is to be found in the Museum.]

SIMMER'S a pleasant time,

Flow'rs of ev'ry colour;

The water rins o'er the heugh,

And I long for my true lover.

Ay waukin O,

Waukin still and wearie:
Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

When I sleep I dream,

When I wauk I'm eerie;
Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

Lanely night comes on,

A' the lave are sleepin';

I think on my bonnie lad

And I bleer my een with greetin'.

Ay waukin O,

Waukin still and wearie:

Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.

Tune-" Ye gallants bright."

[Burns wrote this song in honour of Ann Masterton, daughter of Allan Masterton, author of the air of Strathallan's Lament: she is now Mrs. Derbishire, and resides in Lon n.]

YE gallants bright, I rede ye right,

Beware o' bonnie Ann;

Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,

Your heart she will trepan.

Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;

Sae jimply lac'd her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.

Youth, grace, and love attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van:

In a' their charms, and conquering arms,

They wait on bonnie Ann.

The captive bands may chain the hands,

But love enslaves the man;

Ye gallants braw, I rede you a',

Beware o' bonnie Ann!