YOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN.||

TUNE- THE CARLIN O' THE GLEN.'

YOUNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ;
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove,
And reign'd resistless King of Love:
But now wi' sighs and starting tears,
He strays amang the woods and briers;
Or in the glens and rocky caves
His sad complaining dowie raves :

I wha sae late did range and rove,
And changed with every moon my love,
I little thought the time was near,
Repentance I should buy sae dear:
The slighted maids my torment see,
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair,
Forbids me e'er to see her mair!

Of this song nothing more seems to be known than that it occurs in the Musical Museum, p. 433, without a

name.

THE HEATHER WAS BLOOMING.‡

THE heather was blooming, the meadows were

mawn,

Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and monie a glen,
At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen.

I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring,
But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen.

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells,

Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring,
And O! as she wantoned gay on the wing.
I red, &c.

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill, In spite at her plumage he tried his skill:

There is some doubt whether this song (which occurs in Cromek's Reliques from a copy in Burns' own hand,) was written by him, and it is not adopted by Mr. Allan Cunningham. Gilbert Burns, in a letter to Mr. Cromek, in February, 1809, says of it, and of the verses "Here's a bottle and an honest friend," [p. 39] "If you are not well informed of their legitimacy, I should doubt their being my brother's; but for that doubt I have no authority except which is suggested by my own mind in the reading of them."

He levell❜d his rays where she bask'd on the brae— His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay.

I red, &c.

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill;
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.
I red, &c.

WAE IS MY HEART. +

WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my ee;
Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

Love, thou hast pleasures; and deep hae I loved; Love, thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved : But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel its throbbings will soon be at rest.

O if I were where happy I hae been ;

Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle green : For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae Phillis's ee.

+ The remark on the last song applies also to this.

EPPIE M'NAB. ||

O SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' the laird,
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab!
O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab!
Whate'er thou has done, be it late, be it soon,
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab?
She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot,
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab!
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M‘Nab!
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Rab.

Published in the Museum, p. 346, without any name; and Burns in his notes on that work merely says, "The old song with this title has more wit than decency."

AE DAY A BRAW WOOER.+

AE day a braw wooer came down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

But I said there was naething I hated like men,
The Deuce gae wi' him to believe me.

A weel stocket mailen himsel o't the laird,
An' bridal aff han' was the proffer,

I never loot on, that I ken'd or I car'd,
But thought I might get a waur offer.

He spake o' the darts o' my bonny black een,
An' o' for my love he was diein';

I said, he might die when he liket for Jean,
The Gude forgie me for liein'

But what do ye think, in a fortnight or less,
(The Deil's in his taste to gae near her)
He's down to the castle to black cousin Bess,
Think how the jade I cou'd endure her.

An' a' the niest ouk as I fretted wi' care,
I gade to the tryst o' Dulgarlock;
An' wha but my braw fickle wooer was there,
Wha glowr'd as if he'd seen a warlock.

This song is introduced upon the authority of the Musical Museum, p. 538, where it was published with Burns' name attached to it.