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O, JEANIE, THERE'S NAETHING TO FEAR YE!

HAPPENING to spend an evening, as I had done many, with Patrick Maxwell, Esq., he played the old air, “ Over the Border,” so well, that I could get no rest or sleep till I had composed the following verses for it that I could croon to myself. The late Mrs Gray went over and corrected them next day. It has been by far the most popular love-song I ever wrote. - For the air, see The Border Garland.

O, my lassie, our joy to complete again,

Meet me again i’ the gloaming, my dearie; Low down in the dell let us meet again

O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye! Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry, Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary;

Love be thy sure defence,

Beauty and innocence-
O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye!

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34 0, JEANIE, THERE'S NAETHING TO FEAR YE!

Sweetly blows the haw an' the rowan-tree,

Wild roses speck our thicket sae breery ; Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be

0, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary, List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye,

Then come with fairy haste,

Light foot, an' beating breast0, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye !

Far, far will the bogle an' brownie be,

Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it ; Kind love is the tie of our unity,

A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it. 'Tis love makes the sang o’the woodland sae cheery, Love gars a' nature look bonny that's near ye;

That makes the rose sae sweet,

Cowslip an' violet-
O, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye!

ARABIAN SONG.

These verses were written to an Arabian air, sent me by R. A. Smith, which I lost. They were subsequently set to music by Bishop, to an air which I liked much better. See Select Scottish Melodies, by Goulding and D'Almaine.

Meet me at even, my own true love,
Meet me at even, my honey, my dove,

Where the moonbeam revealing
The cool fountain stealing
Away and away

Through flow'rets so gay,
Singing its silver roundelay.

Love is the fountain of life and bliss,
Love is the valley of joyfulness;

A garden of roses,
Where rapture reposes

A temple of light,

All heavenly brightO, virtuous love is the soul's delight! I LOOKIT EAST, I LOOKIT WEST.

TICKLER.

Cease your funning, James, and give us a song.

SHEPHERD sings. I LOOKIt east, I lookit west,

I saw the darksome coming even ; The wild bird sought its cozy nest,

The kid was to the hamlet driven ;

But house nor hame aneath the heaven, Except the skeugh o' greenwood tree,

To seek a shelter in, was given To my

three little bairns an' me.

I had a prayer I couldna pray,

I had a vow I couldna breathe, For aye they led my words astray,

And aye they war connected baith

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