"Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord, Wha struts and stares, and a' that; For a' that and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that; "A king can mak' a belted knight, Their dignities, and a' that: "Then let us pray, that come it may— That sense and worth o'er a' the earth It's comin' yet for a' that, Shall brothers be for a' that." This is plainly written con amore, and is almost perfect in its way, though it has little pretension to poetry, and is much a satire as a song. However dangerous or destructive its sentiments may be in their excess or misapplication, they are entitled to reverence and sympathy, as truths, which, under proper control, are important elements in private independence and public liberality. There is a wildness and energy in what we are next to quote that attains to the sublime, and appears to place it very high in the scale of song-writing. "As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air, "The winds were laid, the air was still, The fox was howling on the hill,- "The stream adown its hazelly path, "The cauld blue north was streaming forth "By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, "Had I a statue been o' stane, His darin' look had daunted me; Our next is a very favourable example of Burns's powers : "Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen; "Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, This, on the whole, is excellent; it is bold and beautiful, and has thrilled many thousand Scottish hearts, and filled many thousand Scottish eyes with tears, whether at home or in distant lands. Nothing can be sweeter in themselves, or by contrast with what precedes them, than the lines "Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom.” But the song has faults, and those, too, considerable ones. We doubt whether the reason assigned for loving "yon humble broom bowers," is not too exclusively confined to their connexion with the poet's mistress. Surely we prefer the glens of our native land, with their broom and their breckan, before the rich regions of the myrtle and orange, not merely because they are the haunt of a beloved woman, but also because they are the home of our fathers and kindred, the seat of knowledge and piety, the domicile of liberty and peace. If it be said that " Jean," in her character and virtues, is to be regarded as the type of all those excellencies, we think the idea is somewhat strained and obscure. We are certain, however, that if this allusion was admissible in the first verse, it is poorly iniroduced, and mawkishly expressed in the conclusion of the second. The conceit of the free Caledonian wandering about his mountains with only "love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean," is equally cold and commonplace, and wholly unsuitable to the simple and manly character which the song should sustain. We are naturally led from this last song to notice some of those which are more exclusively devoted to the tender or gentle affections. We shall give the precedence to "Highland Mary." "Ye banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel "How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, As underneath the fragrant shade "Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace "O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, We feel this to be, indeed admirable, and fresh from the heart; and if one or two blemishes occur to us in style or versification, the sacredness of a love and sorrow so beautiful and so sincere, deter us from whispering a word of aught but sympathy and reverence. What we have next to notice is every way more open to criticism. "There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, "She's as fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; "But oh! she's an heiress, and R. bin's a laird, my dead. "The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; "O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me! We much admire the two first verses, which are well suited in style and sentiment to a very beautiful and pathetic air; but we think that the rest of the song might, on the whole, have been dispensed with, or ought, at least, to have been remodelled. "A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, The wounds I maun hide that will soon be my dead;" is clumsy and incongruous. "I sigh as my heart it would. burst in my breast," does not please us, and seems to enfeeble a stanza that might have been very good. Somehow or other, a "sigh" is not at all a poetical thing, according to our Scotch customs or pronunciations. The last verse is positively bad. The question in proportion, or the rule of three, stated in the concluding lines, "O how past describing had then been my bliss, is much too formal and calculating, and is destitute of any felicity of thought or language. Of the same mixed character is the following: "O poortith cauld and restless love, |