But the little desperate elf,

The tiny traitor, Love himself!

By the wings I pinched him up

Like a bee, and in a cup

Of my wine I plunged and sank him;

And what d' ye think I did?--I drank him!
Faith, I thought him dead. Not he!
There he lives with tenfold glee;
And now this moment, with his wings
I feel him tickling my heart-strings.

LEIGH HUNT.

DUNCAN GRAY CAM' HERE TO WOO.

DUNCAN GRAY cam' here to woo

Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

On blythe Yule night when we were fou -
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh -

Ha, ha the wooing o't!

Duncan fleeched and Duncan prayed -
Ha, ha! the wooing o't!

Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig

Ha, ha! the wooing o't! Duncan sighed baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn

Ha, ha the wooing o't!

ROBERT BURNS.

THE LOW-BACKED CAR. WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,

"T was on a market day:
A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare
With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar

Never asked for the toll,

But just rubbed his owld poll, And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death in warlike cars;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down in the market town,
As right and left they fly;
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters
By far outnumber these ;
While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in her low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach and four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride;

For the lady would sit forminst me,
On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,

With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar;

O, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car!

SAMUEL LOVER.