BY ALLAN STREAM.

I.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready:

I listened to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; And aye the wild wood echoes rang―

O dearly do I lo'e thee, Annie !

II.

O happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said "I'm thine for ever!"
While mony a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

III.

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae,
The simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery, thro' her shortening day,

Is Autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart,

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

Bravo! say I it is a good song. Should you think so too (not else) you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses.

Autumn is my propitious season. I make more verses in it than all the year else.

God bless you!

[The fancy of Burns took a flight northwards in conceiving this song. Benledi is a mountain westward of Strathallan, some three thousand feet high, and Allan Water gives its name to the strath. The Poet might have found all that he wanted in his immediate neighbourhood: Criffel or Queensberry rise loftily enough, and Annan Water is sufficiently pure for all the purposes of song: moreover, the old lyric from which he took the idea belongs to the district :

"O Annan Water's wide and deep,

And my love Annie's wondrous bonnie;

Shall I be laith to weet my feet

For her whom I love best of onie ?

Gar saddle me my bonnie black,

Gar saddle soon and make him ready,

For I will down the Gatehope-slack

And a' to see my bonnie lady."

Another ancient strain has a similarity of thought and language—the lover seems to be a cautious person: "O Annan Water's wading deep, Yet I am loth to weet my feet; But if ye'll consent to marry me I'll hire a horse to carry thee."

The Annan is a beautiful river with alternate pool and stream, and liable, like all mountain waters, to sudden floods. Burns was often on its banks; amongst its woods he sought for smugglers, or wooed the muses, as circumstances required.-ED.]

No. XXXV.

BURNS TO G. THOMSON.

August, 1793.

Is "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad," one of your airs? I admire it much; and yesterday I set the following verses to it. Urbani, whom I have met with here, begged them of me, as he admires the air much; but, as I understand that he looks with rather an evil eye on your work, I did not choose to comply. However, if the song does not suit your taste, I may possibly send it him. The set of the air which I had in my eye is in Johnson's Museum.

O WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU.

I.

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my
lad.
But warily tent, when you come to court me,
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.

II.

At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie ;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

III.

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

Another favourite air of mine, is, "The muckin o' Geordie's byre." When sung slow with expression, I have wished that it had had better poetry : that, I have endeavoured to supply, as follows:

ADOWN WINDING NITH.

I.

Adown winding Nith I did wander,

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander,

Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

Awa wi'

your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare :
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

II.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is simplicity's child.

III.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,
But fairer and purer her breast.

IV.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:

Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.

V.

Her voice is the song of the morning,

That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove,

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.