ALTHOUGH THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE.

BURNS. Air-"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney."

HERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear,

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear-Jessy!

4

Although thou maun never be mine,
Although even hope is denied ;
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing

Than aught in the world beside-Jessy!
Here's a health, &c.

I mourn through the gay, gaudy day,
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms;
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thy arms-Jessy!
Here's a health, &c.

I guess by the dear angel smile,

I guess by the love-rolling ee;

But why urge the tender confession

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy!

Here's a health, &c.

"I once mentioned to you," says Burns in a letter to Thomson, "an air which I have long admired, Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney,' but I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more." A great critic has affirmed that the sentiment in the lines commencing, "Although thou maun never be mine,' is unparalleled in modern or ancient poetry for its beauty and depth of feeling. It appears, however, to have been borrowed by Burns from Dryden, and was also employed by other writers.

FARE THEE WEEL.

BURNS.

AE fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Who shall say that fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ;
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ;
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure.
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

BURNS. Air-"Miss Admiral Gordon's strathspey."

Or a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;

But day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair;
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

This song was written in celebration of the charms of Jean Armour, afterwards the poet's wife. In some editions there are four stanzas, but the two above quoted are those usually sung, and were the only ones published by the poet himself. The beautiful melody was composed by a "native genius" of the name of Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon.

John Anderson my jo, John,

We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither.
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,

And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

In the first volume of a collection, entitled "Poetry Original and Selected," printed in penny numbers by Brash and Reid, booksellers of Glasgow, between the years 1795 and 1798, this song is given as follows:

John Anderson my jo, John, I wonder what you mean,

To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e'en;
Ye'll blear out a' your een, John, and why should you do so?
Gang sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, when Nature first began
To try her canny hand, John, her masterwork was man;
And you amang them a', John, sae trig frae tap to toe,
She proved to be nae journey-work, John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John, ye were my first conceit,

An' ye maunna think it strange, John, though I ca' ye trim and neat;
Though some folk think ye're auld, John, I never think ye so,
But I think ye're a' the same to me, John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John, we've seen our bairns' bairns;
And yet, my dear John Anderson, I'm happy in ye're arms;
And sae are ye in mine, John,-I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no,
Though the days are gane that we have seen, John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John, what pleasure does it gie

To see sae mony sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you and me;
And ilka lad and lass, John, in our footsteps to go,
Makes perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John, when we were first acquaint,
Your locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your head's turn'd bauld, John, your locks are like the snaw,
Yet blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, frae year to year we've pass'd,
And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to our last;
But let na' that affright us, John, our hearts were ne'er our foe,
While in innocent delight we lived, John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we'll go,
And we'll sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo.

"The stanza with which this song," says Dr. Currie, "inserted by Brash and Reid, begins, is the chorus of the old song under this title; and though perfectly suitable to that wicked but witty ballad, it has no accordance with the strain of delicate and tender sentiment of this improved song. In regard to the five other additional stanzas, though they are in the spirit of the two that are unquestionably our

bard's, yet every reader of discernment will see they are by an inferior hand; and the real author of them ought neither to have given them, nor suffer them to be given to the world, as the production of Burns. If there were no other mark of their spurious origin, the latter half of the third line in the seventh stanza,-' our hearts were ne'er our foe,'-would be proof sufficient. Many are the instances in which our bard has adopted defective rhymes; but a single instance cannot be produced in which, to preserve the rhyme, he has given a feeble thought in false grammar. These additional stanzas are not, however, without merit, and they may serve to prolong the pleasure which every person of taste must feel from listening to a most happy union of beautiful music with moral sentiments that are singularly interesting."

The following three stanzas were published by Brash and Reid, but not quoted by Dr. Currie. The idea is the same as that expressed by Burns, but has not the masterly expression he gave to it.

John Anderson my jo, John,

Our siller ne'er was rife,
And yet we ne'er saw poverty

Sin' we were man and wife:
We've aye haen bit and brat, John,
Great blessings here below,

And that helps to keep peace at hame,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,

The world lo'es us baith;

We ne'er spak' ill o' neibours, John,

Nor did them ony skaith;

To live in peace and quietness

Was a' our care, ye know;

And I'm sure they'll greet when we are dead,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,

And when the time is come,

That we, like ither auld folk, John,

Maun sink into the tomb;

A motto we will hae, my John,

To let the world know

We happy lived, contented died,
John Anderson, my jo.

SAE FLAXEN WERE HER RINGLETS.

BURNS. Air-" Onagh's waterfall."

SAE flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue

Bewitchingly o'erarching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.

Her smiling sae wyling

Wad make a wretch forget his woe;

What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto these rosy lips to grow!