I listen, poor fool! and I greet; Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'!

"Dear la.s.sie," he cries, wi' a jeer, "Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say; Though we 've little to brag o', near fear-- What 's gowd to a heart that is wae?

Our laird has baith honours and wealth, Yet see how he 's dwining wi' care; Now we, though we 've naething but health, Are cantie and leal evermair.

"O Marion! the heart that is true, Has something mair costly than gear!

Ilk e'en it has naething to rue, Ilk morn it has naething to fear.

Ye warldlings! gae h.o.a.rd up your store, And tremble for fear aught ye tyne; Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door, While here in my arms I lock mine!"

He ends wi' a kiss and a smile-- Wae 's me! can I tak' it amiss?

My laddie 's unpractised in guile, He 's free aye to daut and to kiss!

Ye la.s.ses wha lo'e to torment Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife, Play your pranks--I hae gi'en my consent, And this nicht I 'm Jamie's for life!

[15] The first stanza of this song, along with a second, which is unsuitable for insertion, has been ascribed, on the authority of Burns, to the Rev. John Clunie, minister of Borthwick, in Mid-Lothian, who died in 1819, aged sixty-two. Ritson, however, by prefixing the letters "J.

D." to the original stanza would seem to point to a different author.

DONALD AND FLORA.[16]

I.

When merry hearts were gay, Careless of aught but play, Poor Flora slipt away, Sadd'ning to Mora;[17]

Loose flow'd her yellow hair, Quick heaved her bosom bare, As to the troubled air She vented her sorrow.

II.

"Loud howls the stormy wist, Cold, cold is winter's blast; Haste, then, O Donald, haste, Haste to thy Flora!

Twice twelve long months are o'er, Since on a foreign sh.o.r.e You promised to fight no more, But meet me in Mora."

III.

"'Where now is Donald dear?'

Maids cry with taunting sneer; 'Say, is he still sincere To his loved Flora?'

Parents upbraid my moan, Each heart is turn'd to stone: 'Ah, Flora! thou 'rt now alone, Friendless in Mora!'

IV.

"Come, then, O come away!

Donald, no longer stay; Where can my rover stray From his loved Flora!

Ah! sure he ne'er can be False to his vows and me; Oh, Heaven!--is not yonder he, Bounding o'er Mora!"

V.

"Never, ah! wretched fair!"

Sigh'd the sad messenger, "Never shall Donald mair Meet his loved Flora!

Cold as yon mountain snow Donald thy love lies low; He sent me to soothe thy woe, Weeping in Mora.

VI.

"Well fought our gallant men On Saratoga's plain; Thrice fled the hostile train From British glory.

But, ah! though our foes did flee, Sad was such victory-- Truth, love, and loyalty Fell far from Mora.

VII.

"'Here, take this love-wrought plaid,'

Donald, expiring, said; 'Give it to yon dear maid Drooping in Mora.

Tell her, O Allan! tell Donald thus bravely fell, And that in his last farewell He thought on his Flora.'"

VIII.

Mute stood the trembling fair, Speechless with wild despair; Then, striking her bosom bare, Sigh'd out, "Poor Flora!

Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!"

Was all the fond heart could say: At length the sound died away Feebly in Mora.

[16] This fine ballad was written by Macneill, to commemorate the death of his friend, Captain Stewart, a brave officer, betrothed to a young lady in Athole, who, in 1777, fell at the battle of Saratoga, in America. The words, which are adapted to an old Gaelic air, appear with music in Smith's "Scottish Minstrel," vol. iii. p. 28. The ballad, in the form given above, has been improved in several of the stanzas by the author, on his original version, published in Johnson's "Museum." See the "Museum," vol. iv. p. 238.

[17] Mora is the name of a small valley in Athole, so designated by the two lovers.

MY LUVE'S IN GERMANY.[18]

TUNE--_"Ye Jacobites by name."_

My luve 's in Germanie, send him hame, send him hame; My luve 's in Germanie, send him hame; My luve 's in Germanie, Fighting brave for royalty: He may ne'er his Jeanie see-- Send him hame.

He 's as brave as brave can be--send him hame, send him hame; He 's as brave as brave can be--send him hame; He 's as brave as brave can be, He wad rather fa' than flee; His life is dear to me-- Send him hame.

Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, bonnie dame, bonnie dame, Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, bonnie dame; Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, But he fell in Germanie, In the cause of royalty, Bonnie dame.

He 'll ne'er come ower the sea--Willie 's slain, Willie 's slain; He 'll ne'er come ower the sea--Willie 's gane!

He 'll ne'er come ower the sea, To his love and ain countrie: This warld 's nae mair for me-- Willie 's gane!

[18] This song was originally printed on a single sheet, by N. Stewart and Co., Edinburgh, in 1794, as the lament of a lady on the death of an officer. It does not appear in Macneill's "Poetical Works," but he a.s.serted to Mr Stenhouse his claims to the authorship.--Johnson's "Museum," vol. iv. p. 323.