But the tender heart o' leesome luve,
The gowd and siller canna buy:
We may be poor-Robie and I,

Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve brings peace and joy, What mair hae queens upon a throne?

FAIR ELIZA.

A GAELIC AIR.

TURN again, thou fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part,
Rew on thy despairing lover!

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart?
Turn again, thou fair Eliza;

If to love thy heart denies,
For pity hide the cruel sentence
Under friendship's kind disguise!

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,
Ae sweet smile on me bestow

Not the bee upon the blossom,
In the pride o' sinny noon;

Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon ;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e

Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture,
That thy presence gies to me.

THE POSIE.

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 without a peer;

And a' to be a posie to my own dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For its 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 grey, 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,

An a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' 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 remuve,

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

THE BANKS O' DOON.

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 thro' 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;
And my fause luver stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed,

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

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie 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 whiskin 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.

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.

GLOOMY DECEMBER.

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair.
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure,
Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour;
But the dire feeling, O farewell for ever,
Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure..