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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.

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.

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.

THE POSIE.

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.

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 ;

I LOVE MY JEAN.
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.

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

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

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

THE BANKS O' DOON.

JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,

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

Your bonnie brow was brent;

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.

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE?

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.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD.

FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY.
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.

A RED, RED ROSE.
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?

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SAMUEL ROGERS.

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.”

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

PART I.

IN TWO PARTS.

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.

Petrarch.

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

attachment to inanimate objects; hence also, in some As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, degree, the love of our country, and the emotion with Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. which we contemplate the celebrated scenes of antiquity. The storied arras, source of fond delight, Hence a picture directs our thoughts to the original: and, es cold and darkness suggest forcibly the ideas of heat With old achievement charms the wilderd sight; and light, he who feels the infirmities of age dwells most And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest, on whatever reminds him of the vigour and vivacity of On the dim window glows the pictured crest. his youth,

The screen unfolds its many-colour'd chart, The associating principle, as here employed, is no less

The clock still points its moral to the heart. conducive to virtue than to happiness; and, as such, it frequently discovers itself in the most tumultuous scenes That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear, of life. It addresses our finer feelings, and gives exercise When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near; to every mild and generous propensity.

And has its sober hand, its simple chime, Not confined to man, it extends through all animated Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of time? Dature ; and its effect sare peculiarly striking in the That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, domestic tribes.

Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive

thought ; TWILIGHT's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, Those muskets, cased with venerable rust ; With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Those once-loved forms, still breathing through Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke,

their dust, When round the ruins of their ancient oak

Still, from the frame in mould gigantic cast, The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play, Starting to life-all whisper of the past ! And games and carols closed the busy day.

As through the garden's desert paths I rove, Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! With treasured tales, and legendary lore.

How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest; To chase the dreams of innocent repose.

Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing, All, all are filed; yet still I linger here !

Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! What secret charms this silent spot endear! How oft inscribed, with friendship's votive rhyme,

Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, The bark now silver'd by the touch of time ; Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze. Soard in the swing, half pleased and half afraid, That casement arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, Through sister elms that waved their summer-shade; First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat ! court,

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! When nature pleased, for life itself was new, Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! And the heart promised what the fancy drew. Clothed with far softer hues than light can give.

See, through the fractured pediment reveald, Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; The martin's old, hereditary nest :

Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest! When nature fades, and life forgets to charm;

As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Thee would the muse invoke to thee belong O haste, unfold the hospitable hall !

The sage's precept, and the poet's song.
That hall, where once, in antiquated state, What softend views thy magic glass reveals,
The chair of justice held the grave debate. [hung, When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight

Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly steals!
Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; As when in ocean sinks the orb of day,
When round yon ample board, in due degree, Long on the wave reflected lustres play ;
We sweeten'd every meal with social glee. Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd
The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind.
And all was sunshine in each little breast,

The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses 'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound;

gray, And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. 'Twas here, at eve, we form’d our fairy ring; Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, And fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing.

Quickening my truant feet across the lawn: Giants and genii chain’d each wondering ear ; Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, And orphan sorrows drew the ready tear.

When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Oft with the babes we wanderd in the wood, Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Or view'd the forest feats of Robin Hood :

Some little friendship form’d and cherish'd here, Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour,

And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With startling step we scaled the lonely tower ; With golden visions, and romantic dreams! D'er infant innocence to hang and weep,

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. The gipsy's fagot-there we stood and gazed ;

Ye household deities ! whose guardian eye Gazed on her sunburnt face with silent awe,
Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high ; Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw;
Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er ;
And breathe the soul of inspiration round.

The drowsy brood that on her back she bore,

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