LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

WE are indebted to the volume of "Scottish Balads," edited by Robert Chambers, for our copy of this pathetic and popular ballad. The mourning victim, it is now well established, was the daughter of Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, at the Reformation. She was eminently beaut ful Her betrayer was the Honourable Sir Alexander Erskine, a son of the seventh Earl of Mar. He was considered the handsomest man of his age, as a portrait of him now in existence, testifies. During the religious troubles in Scotland, he proved himself as disloyal in politics as in love, Laving been prevailed on by the Covenanters to take command of one of their regiments. He met with an untimely end, having been blown up at the Castle of Dunglass, in Berwickshire," a judgment upon him,” says tradi tion, "for his treatment of the unhappy lady."

BALOW, my boy, lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip;
If thou'se be silent, I'se be glad;
Thy maining maks my heart full sad.
Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy ;
Thy father breids me great annoy.

Balow, my boy, he still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.

When he began to court my luve,
And with his sugred words to muve,
His feignings false and flattering cheir
To me that time did not appeir:
But now I see, most cruel he
Cares neither for his babe nor me.

Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.

Lie still, my darling; sleip awhile,
And when thou wakest, sweetlie smile:
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid!
But
yet I feir, thou wilt gae neir
Thy father's heart and face to beir.
Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.

Farewell, farewell, thou falsest youth,
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
Let nevir any, after me,
Submit unto thy courtesie:

For, if they do, Oh, cruel thou
Wilt her abuse, and care not how.

Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.
I was too credulous at first,
To yield thee all a maiden durst.
Thou swore forever true to prove,
Thy faith unchanged, unchanged thy love;
But, quick as thought, the change is
wrought,

Thy love's no more, thy promise noucht.
Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.
Balow my boy, weep not for me,
Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee;
Nor pitv her deserved smart,

Who can blame none but her fond heart.
The too soon trusting, latest finds,
With fairest tongues are falsest minds.
Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to heir thee weip.
Oh, do not, do not, prettie mine,
To feignings false thy heart incline.
Be loyal to thy lover true,
And never change her for a new:
If good or fair, of her have care;
For women's banning's wondrous sair.
Balow, my boy; lie still and sleip!
It grieves me sair to see thee weip.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

Ir would be superfluous to say a word as to the merits of this well-known ballad: its simple beauty has won too many hearts to render eulogium necessary. It's author is not so generally known. It is the composition of the late Lady Barnard, daughter of the Earl of Balcarras. It was written about the year 1772, and for fifty years the secret of its authorship was preserved. In 1823, two years before her death, Lady Barnard acknowledged it as her composition in a letter to Walter Scott.

O sair, sair did we greet, and mickle say of a';

Ae kiss we took, nae mair—I bad him gang awa.

I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;

Said, Jenny, oh! for their sakes, will you For O, I am but young to cry out, Woe is marry me!'

me!

For oh! the wee bit glass, my Jamie gaed My bairn gied me her hand, although her