I HAE LOST MY LOVE.

A BITTER song against the women.

I HAE lost my love, an' I dinna ken how,
I hae lost my love, an' I carena;

For laith will I be just to lie down an' dee,

And to sit down an' greet wad be bairnly;
But a screed o' ill-nature I canna weel help,
At having been guidit unfairly;

An' weel wad I like to gie women a skelp,
An' yerk their sweet haffits fu' yarely.

O! plague on the limmers, sae sly and demure, As pawkie as deils wi' their smiling;

As fickle as winter, in sunshine and shower,

The hearts o' a' mankind beguiling;

As sour as December, as soothing as May,

To suit their ain ends, never doubt them; Their ill faults I couldna tell ower in a day, But their beauty's the warst thing about them!

Ay, that's what sets up the haill warld in a lowe;
Make's kingdoms to rise and expire;
Man's micht is nae mair than a flaughten o' tow,
Opposed to a bleeze o' reid fire!

'Twas woman at first made creation to bend,

And of nature's prime lord made the fellow! An' 'tis her that will bring this ill warld to an end, An' that will be seen an' heard tell o' !

ALLAN DHU.

I LIKE to see you, Allan Dhu,
I like wi' you to meet,

But dinna say to me you loe,

For that wad gar me greet.

I like to see you smile on me
Amang our maidens a',

But, oh! ae vow o' love frae you

I cou'dna stand ava.

Ay, ye may smile, but dinna speak ;

I ken what ye've to say;

Sae, either haud your tongue sae sleek,

Or look another way;

For, should it be of love to me,

In manner soft and bland,

I wadna ye my face should see

For a' Breadalbin's land.

Oh! Allan Dhu, 'tis nought to you
Of love to gibe and jeer;

But little ken ye of the pang

A maiden's heart maun bear,

When a' on earth that she hauds dear,

The hope that makes her fain,

Comes plump at aince-Oh, me! the thought 'Maist turns my heart to stane !

No, Allan, no-I winna let

You speak a word the night:

Gang hame, an' write a lang letter,

For weel ye can indite.

And be it love, or be it slight,

I then can hae my will,

I'll steal away, far out o' sight,

An' greet, an' greet my fill.

LOVE'S VISIT.

LOVE came to the door o' my heart ae night,

And he call'd wi' a whining din—

Oh, open

the door! for it is but thy part

To let an old crony come in."

"Thou sly little elf! I hae open'd to thee

Far aftener than I dare say;

An' dear hae the openings been to me,
Before I could wile you away."

"Fear not," quo' Love," for my bow's in the rest,

And my arrows are ilk ane gane;

For you sent me to wound a lovely breast,

Which has proved o' the marble stane.