Imágenes de páginas

Now's the day and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power ;

Edward ! chains and slavery !
Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?

Traitor! coward! turn and filee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

Caledonian ! on wi' me !
By oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low !
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward ! let us do, or die !


Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure and a' that, The rank is but the guinea stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that ;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o'men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; Though hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a coof for a' that; For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,

Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o’sense, and pride o'worth,

Are higher ranks than a'that.
Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a'that.
For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.


TUNE_" The Lothian Lassie."
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,

And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
I said there was nothing I hated like men ;

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me, believe me,

The deuce gae wi’m, to believe me.
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black e'en,

And vow'd for my love he was dying;
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean;

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying,

The Lord forgie me for lying!
A weel-stocked mailen, himsel for the laird,

And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or cared,

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers,

But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or less,

The deil tak his taste to gae near her!
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess;
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could

bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
But a'the niest week as I fretted wi' care,

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock,
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,

And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I spierd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,

Gin she had recover'd her hearin,
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet,

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin,
He begg'd, for Gudesake ! I wad be his wife,

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

SONG. TUNE—"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney."


Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear—Jessy !
ALTHOUGH thou maun never be mine,

Although even hope is denied ;
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside Jessy !

Here's a health, &c.
I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms;
But welcome the dream o'sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thy arms-Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell, cruel decree-Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.


Boonie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,
Boznie lassie, will ye go to the birks of Aberfeldy ?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
While o’er their heads the hazels hing,
The little birdies blithely sing,
Or lightly fit on wanton wing
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
Oerhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' nowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, &c.

Trng_" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey."
Or a'the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair :
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air :
There's not a bonnie flower that springs,

By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.


JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,

When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent;

But now your brow is beld, John,

Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,

John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither ;
And mony a canty day, John,

We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,

But hand and hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,

John Anderson my jo.


O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na weel be

seen, O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has

been ; But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae

green, And a' to pu’a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu'the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o'womankind, and blooms with

out a peer; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll pu' the budding rose when Phæbus peeps in

view, For it's like a baumy kiss o’her sweet bonnie mou; The hyacinth's for constancy wi' its unchanging

blue, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu', wi’its locks o'siller gray, Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day, But the songster's nest within the bush I winna

tak away ;

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is

near, And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae

clear: The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to

wear, And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi’ the silken band of luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a'

above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.


YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ;
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary, fu'o' care !

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons through the flowering thorn : Thou minds me o' departed joys,

Departed never to return.
Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine ;
And ilka bird sang o'its luve,

And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Fu'sweet upon its thorny tree : But my fause luver stole my rose,

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me.

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,

An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water :

Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.


SONG. 'TUNE_" Catharine Ogie." Ye Rowery banks o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye blume sae fair, How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae fu' o' care ! Thou'l break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause luve was true. Thou'l break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings beside thy mate ;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o'its love,

And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,

Frae aff its thorny tree,
And my fause luver staw the rose,

But left the thorn wi' me.

Wilt thou be my dearie?

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee?

By the treasure of my soul, And that's the love I bear thee!

I swear and vow, that only thou Shall ever be my dearie.

Only thou, I swear and vow,

Shall ever be my dearie. Lassie, say thou lo'es me;

Or if thou wilt na be my ain,
Say na thou'lt refuse me:

If it winna, canna be,
Thou for thine may choose me;

Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo’es me,

Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo’es me.


My heart is sair, I dare na tell,

My heart is sair for somebody ;
I could wake a winter night
For the sake o' somebody!

Oh-hon! for somebody!

Oh-hey! for somebody! I could range the world around, For the sake o' somebody. Ye powers that smile on virtuous love,

O sweetly smile on somebody! Frae ilka danger keep him free, And send me safe my somebody

Oh-hon ! for somebody!

Oh-hey! for somebody! I wad do-what wad I not? For the sake of somebody.

WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie,
Willie was a wabster guid,

Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither;

Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her. She has an e'e, she has but ane,

The cat has twa the very colour ; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ;
A whisken beard about her mou,
Her nose and chin they threaten ither ;

Sic a wife, &c.
She's bow-hough’d, she's hein-shinn'd,

Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,

To balance fair in ilka quarter :
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther ;

Sic a wife, &c.

O MY luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June :
O my luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun : I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve !

And fare thee weel a while ! And I will come again, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile.

It's no the frosty winter wind,

It's fo the driving drift and snaw: But aye the tear comes in my e'e,

To think on him that's far awa.

My father pat me frae his door,

My friends they hae disown'd me a'; But I hae ane will tak my part,

The bonnie lad that's far awa. A pair o'gloves he gave to me,

And silken snoods he gave me twa; And I will wear them for his sake,

The bonnie lad that's far awa. The weary winter soon will pass,

And spring will cleed the birken-shaw; And my sweet babie will be born,

And he'll come hame that's far awa.

SONG AE fond kiss and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerfu'twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy: But to see her, was to love her ; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met-or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

WHISTLE O’ER THE LAVE O'T. FIRST when Maggy was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her air; Now we're married-spier nae mair

Whistle o'er the lave o't.Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Bonnie Meg was nature's child-Wiser men than me's beguiled :

Whistle o'er the lave o't. How we live, my Meg and me, How we love and how we 'gree, I care na by how few may see ;

Whistle o'er the lave o't.What I wish were maggot's meat, Dish'd up in her winding sheet, I could write—but Meg maun see't

Whistle o'er the lave o't.

THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA. O How can I be blithe and glad,

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best,

Is o'er the hills and far awa?


U 2



SAMUEL ROGERs, one of the most elegant of the | a recent edition has been given to the world, accomBritish poets, was the son of a banker, and himself panied with numerous engravings. This poem is follows that business in London, where he was born, his last and greatest, but by no means his best, per. about 1760. He received a learned education, which formance ; though an eminent writer in the New he completed by travelling through most of the Monthly Magazine calls it “ perfect as a whole." countries of Europe, including France, Switzerland, There are certainly many very beautiful descriptive Italy, Germany, &c. He has been all his life master passages to be found in it; and it is totally free of an ample fortune, and not subject, therefore, to the from meretriciousness : but we think the author common reverses of an author, in which character has too often mistaken commonplace for simplicity, he first appeared in 1787, when he published a spirit- to render it of much value to his reputation, as a ed Ode to Superstition, with other poems. These whole. It is as the author of the Pleasures of Me were succeeded, after an interval of five years, by mory, that he will be chiefly known to posterity, the Pleasures of Memory; a work which at once though, at the same time, some of his minor poems established his fame as a first-rate poet. In 1798, he are among the most pure and exquisite fragments published his Epistle to a Friend, with other poems; of verse, which the poets of this age have produced. and did not again come forward, as a poet, till 1814, In society, few men are said to be more agreeable when he added to a collected edition of his works, in manners and conversation than the venerable his somewhat irregular poem of the Vision of Co- subject of our memoir ; and his benevolence is lumbus. In the same year came out his Jaqueline, said to be on a par with his taste and accoma tale, in company with Lord Byron's Lara; and, plishments. Lord Byron must have thought highly in 1819, his Human Life. In 1822, was published of his poetry, if he were sincere in saying, “We his first part of Italy, which has since been com are all wrong, excepting Rogers, Crabbe, and pleted, in three volumes, duodecimo; and of which, Campbell.”




Hoc est
Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.-Mart.

Dolce sentier,
Colle, che mi piacesti,
Ov'ancor per usanza Amor mi mena;
Ben riconosco in voi l'usate forme,
Non, lasso, in me.


O could my mind, unfolded in my page,

ANALYSIS. Enlighten climes and mould a future age;

THE poem begins with the description of an obscure There as it glow'd, with noblest frenzy fraught, village, and of the pleasing melancholy which it excites Dispense the treasures of exalted thought; on being revisited after a long absence. This mixed senTo virtue wake the pulses of the heart,

sation is an effect of the memory. From an effect we And bid the tear of emulation start !

naturally ascend to the cause; and the subject proposed

is then unfolded, with an investigation of the nature and O could it still, through each succeeding year,

leading principles of this faculty. My life, my manners, and my name endear;

It is evident that our ideas flow in continual succession, And, when the poet sleeps in silent dust,

and introduce each other with a certain degree of regu. Still hold communion with the wise and just ! larity. They are sometimes excited by sensible objects, Yet should this verse, my leisure's best resource,

and sometimes by an internal operation of the mind. of When through the world it steals its secret course, and its many sources of pleasures to them, as well as to

the former species is most probably the memory of brutes; Revive but once a generous wish supprest, us, are considered in the first part. The latter is the most Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest;

perfect degree of memory, and forms the subject of the In one good deed a fleeting hour employ,

second. Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy;

When ideas have any relation whatever, they are alBlest were my lines, though limited their sphere,

tractive of each other in the mind; and the perception of Though short their date, as his who traced them any object naturally leads to the idea of another, which

was connected with it either in time or place, or which here.

1793. can be compared or contrasted with it. Hence arises our 234

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