AIR--_"Fye, gae rub her owre wi' strae."_

As sunshine to the flowers in May, As wild flowers to the hinny bee, As fragrant scent o' new mown hay, So my true love is sweet to me.

As costly jewels to the bride, As beauty to the bridegroom's e'e-- To sailors, as fair wind and tide, So my true love is dear to me.

As rain-draps to the thirsty earth, As waters to the willow-tree, As mother's joy at baby's birth, So my true love is dear to me.

Though owning neither wealth nor lan', He 's ane o' Heaven's pedigree; His love to G.o.d, his love to man, His goodness makes him dear to me.

The la.s.s that weds a warly fool May laugh, and sing, and dance a wee; But earthly love soon waxes cool, And foolish fancies turn ajee.

My laddie's heart is fu' o' grace, His loving e'e blinks bonnily, A heavenly licht illumes his face; Nae wonder though he 's dear to me.

TWILIGHT JOYS.

Musing, we sat in our garden bower, In the balmy month of June, Enjoying the pensive gloamin' hour When our daily task was done.

We spake of the friends of our early days, Some living, some dead and gane, And fancy skimm'd o'er the flow'ry braes Of our morning life again.

A bless'd, a lightsome hour was that, And joyful were we to see The sunny face of ilk bonnie brat, So full of frolicsome glee.

They ran, they row'd, they warsl'd, they fell, Whiles whirl'd in a fairy ring-- Our hearts ran o'er like a gushing well, And we bless'd each happy thing.

In our wee dwelling the lamp of love, Trimm'd daily by faith and prayer, Flings light on earth, on heaven above, Sheds glory everywhere.

This golden lamp shines clear and bright, When the world looks dark and doure, It brightens our morning, noon, and night, And gladdens our gloamin' hour.

WILLIAM WILSON.

William Wilson was born on the 25th December 1801, in the village of Crieff, Perthshire. His parents being of the industrial cla.s.s and in indigent circ.u.mstances, he was early devoted to a life of manual labour.

While employed in a factory at Dundee, some of his poetical compositions were brought under the notice of Mrs Grant, of Laggan, who interested herself in his behalf, and enabled him to begin business as a coal merchant. He married early in life, and continued after marriage to write as ardent poetry about his wife as he had done before marriage. On her death, he married a lady of respectable connexions in the county of Roxburgh. In December 1833, he emigrated to America, and has since been in business as a publisher at Poughkeepsie, in the state of New York. He has repeatedly delivered lectures to scientific inst.i.tutions, and is well known to the higher cla.s.s of literary men in America. Many of his earlier poems were contributed to the _Edinburgh Literary Journal_; and he has published several of his own and other songs, with music of his own composition.

O BLESSING ON HER STARLIKE E'EN.

O blessing on her starlike e'en, Wi' their glance o' love divine; And blessing on the red, red lip, Was press'd yestreen to mine!

Her braided locks that waved sae light, As she danced through the lofty ha', Were like the cluds on the brow o' night, Or the wing o' the hoodie craw.

O mony a jimp an' gentle dame, In jewell'd pomp was there; But she was first among them a', In peerless beauty rare!

Her bosom is a holy shrine, Unstain'd by mortal sin, An' spotless as the snaw-white foam, On the breast o' the siller linn.

Her voice--hae ye heard the goudspink's note, By bowery glen or brake?

Or listen'd ye e'er to the mermaid's lay, By sea or mountain lake?

Hae ye dreamt ye heard, i' the bowers o' heaven, The angel's melodie?

Or fancied ye listen'd the sang o' the spheres As they swung on their path on hie?

Far sweeter to me was her lay o' love, At the gloamin' hour yestreen; An', oh! were I king o' the warld wide, I would mak' that maiden my queen.

OH! BLESSING ON THEE, LAND.

Oh! blessing on thee, land Of love and minstrel song; For Freedom found a dwelling-place Thy mountain cliffs among!

And still she loves to roam Among thy heath-clad hills; And blend her wild-wood harp's sweet strain With the voice of mountain rills.

Her song is on the gale, Her step upon the wold; And morning diamonds brightly gem Her braided locks of gold.

Far up the pine-wood glen, Her sylph-like form is seen, By hunter in the hazy dawn, Or wandering bard at e'en.

My own dear native home, The birthplace of the brave, O never may thy soil be trod By tyrant or by slave!

Then, blessing on thee, land Of love and minstrel song; For Freedom found a dwelling-place, Thy mountain cliffs among!

THE FAITHLESS.

We part,--yet wherefore should I weep, From faithless thing like thee to sever?

Or let one tear mine eyelids steep, While thus I cast thee off for ever?

I loved thee--need I say how well?

Few, few have ever loved so dearly; As many a sleepless hour can tell, And many a vow breath'd too sincerely.

But late, beneath its jetty lash, I loved to mark thy blue eyes' splendour, Which wont, all witchingly, to flash On me its light so soft and tender; Now, from that glance I turn away, As if its thrilling gaze could wound me; Though not, as once, in love's young day, When thoughtless pa.s.sion's fetters bound me.

The dimpling smile, with sweetness fraught, The bosom, 'mid its snow, upheaving; Who, that had seen them, could have thought That things so fair could be deceiving?

The moon, the sky, the wave, the wind, In all their fitful moods of changing, Are nought to wavering woman's mind, For ever shifting, ever ranging!

Farewell! I'd rather launch my bark Upon the angry ocean billow, 'Mid wintry winds, and tempests dark, Than make thy faithless breast my pillow.

Thy broken vow now cannot bind, Thy streaming tears no more can move me, And thus I turn from thee, to find A heart that may more truly love me.