HARK! the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Clouden's woods amang,
Then a faulding let us gang,
My bonie dearie.

Ca' the, &c.

We'll gae down by Clouden side,
Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.

Ca' the, &c.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O'er the dewy-bending flowers,

Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ca' the, &c.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;

Thou'rt to love and Heaven sae dear,

Nocht of ill may come thee near,

My bonie dearie.

Ca' the, &c.

Fair and lovely as thou art,

Thou hast stown my very heart;

I can die-but canna part,

My bonie dearie.

Ca' the, &c.

While waters wimple to the sea;

While day blinks in the lift sae hie;

Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ce,
Ye shall be my dearie.

Ca' the, &c.

Robert Burns.

CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING.

"GET up, get up for shame! the blooming Morn
Upon her wings presents the God unshorn!
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air!-
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed! and see

The dew bespangling herb and tree.

Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east
Above an hour since, yet you are not dress'd—
Nay, not so much as out of bed,

When all the birds have matins said,

And sung their thankful hymns: 'tis sin—
Nay, profanation, to keep in,

Whereas a thousand virgins on this day

Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care

For jewels for your gown or hair;

Fear not, for the leaves will strew

Gems in abundance upon you;—

Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept :
Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,

And Titan on the eastern hill

Retires himself, or else stands still

Till you come forth.

Few beads are best

Wash, dress, be brief in praying: when once we go a-Maying.

Come, my Corinna! come, and, coming, mark
How each field turns a street-each street a park,
Made green, and trimm'd with trees!-see how
Devotion gives each house a bough

Or branch-each porch, each door, ere this
An ark, a tabernacle is,

Made up of whitethorn neatly interwove,

As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields, and we not see 't?
Come, we'll abroad, and let's obey
The proclamation made for May,

And sin no more, as we have done by staying,
But, my Corinna! come, let's go a-Maying.

There's not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth ere this has come
Back, and with whitethorn laden home:
Some have dispatch'd their cakes and cream
Before that we have ceased to dream;

And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:

Many a green gown has been given;

Many a kiss, both odd and even ;

Many a glance, too, has been sent

From out the eye, love's firmament ;

Many a jest told of the key's betraying

This night, and locks pick'd;-yet we're not a-Maying!

Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,

And take the harmless folly of the time:

We shall grow old apace and die
Before we know our liberty.

Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun :
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
So when or you or 1 are made

A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight

Lies drown'd with us in endless night.

Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a-Maying."

Herrick.

THE HAY-FIELD.

THE grateful sweetness of the new-mown hay,
Breathing refreshment, fans the toiling swain.
And soon the jocund dale and echoing hill
Resound with merriment: the simple jest,
The village tale of scandal, and the taunts
Of rude unpolish'd wit, raise sudden bursts
Of laughter from beneath the spreading oak,
Where, thrown at ease, and shelter'd from the sun,
The plain repast and wholesome beverage cheer
Their spirits light as air they spring renew'd
To social labour; soon the ponderous wain
Moves slowly onward with its fragrant load.

Thomson.