Away, thou bonny witch o' Fife,

On foam of the air to heave an' flit, An' little reck thou of a poet's life,

For he sees thee yet, he sees thee yet.

ROW ON, ROW ON,

WAS Written to an old Border air, ycleped" Tushilaw's Lines," which has never been published. The words were meant to suit the plaintive notes of the tune.

Row on, row on, thou cauldrife wave,

Weel may you fume, and growl, and grumble—

Weel may you to the tempest rave

And down your briny mountains tumble;

For mony a heart thou hast made cauld,
Of firmest friend and fondest lover,

Who lie in thy dark bosom pall'd,
The garish green wave rolling over.

Upon thy waste of waters wide,

Though ray'd in a' the dyes o' heaven!

I never turn my looks aside,

But my poor heart wi' grief is riven;

For then on ane that loe'd me weel

My heart will evermair be turning;

An' oh! 'tis grievous aye to feel

That nought remains for me but mourning.

For whether he's alive or dead,

In distant land for maiden sighing,

A captive into slavery led,

Or in thy beds of amber lying,

I cannot tell;-I only know

I loved him dearly, and forewarn’d him ;

I gave him thee in pain and woe,

And thou hast never more return'd him.

Still thou rowest on with sullen roar-
A broken heart to thee is nothing;
Thou only lovest to lash the shore,

And jabber out thy thunder, frothing.
Thy still small voice send to this creek,

The wavy field of waters over;

Oh! Spirit of the Ocean, speak!

And tell me where thou hold'st my lover!

MARION GRAHAM;

A PASTORAL ballad, written expressly for the first Number of the Literary Journal, and published there.

AWAKE, my bonny Marion Graham,

And see this scene before it closes,
The eastern lift is a' on flame,

And a' besprinkled o'er wi' roses;
It is a sight will glad your ee,
A sight my Marion loes to see.

Here are the streaks of gowden light,

Fair as my Marion's locks o' yellow;
And tints of blue as heavenly bright

As smile within her ee sae mellow;
Her cheeks, young roses, even seem
To dimple in yon heavenly beam.

Awake, my bonny Marion Graham,

Ye never saw sae bright adorning;

I canna bear that my sweet dame

Should lose the pleasures o' this morning;

For what wad a' its beauties be

Without some likeness unto thee?

I see thee in the silver stream,

The budding rose, and gracefu' willow;

I see thee in yon morning beam,

And beauty of the glowing billow;

I see thy innocence and glee

In every lamb that skims the lea.

And could you trow it, lovely May,
I see thee in the hues of even,

Thy virgin bed the milky way,

Thy coverlet the veil of heaven!

There have I seen a vision dim
Hush'd by an angel's holy hymn.

And, Marion, when this morn, above

The gates of heaven, I saw advancing