I count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae long as I'll enjoy it:

I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.

IV.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
ay until ye try them:

And

Tho' they seem fair, still have a care,
They may prove waur than I am.
But attwal at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that lo'es his mistress weel
Nae travel makes him weary.

[This was a song of the Poet's youthful days: he trimmed it up a little for the Museum, and adapted it to

the beautiful tune called "

Laggan Burn." The words resemble, here and there, the song beginning

"My father was a farmer

Upon the Carrick border."

There is more of the man in his early verses, and more

sentiment in his latter ones.-Ed.]

THE FAREWELL.

Tune-" It was a' for our rightfu' king.

I.

It was a' for our rightfu' king,
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear;

We e'er saw Irish land.

II.

Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain ;

My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear;

For I maun cross the main.

III.

He turned him right, and round about Upon the Irish shore;

And

gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore,

My dear;

With adieu for evermore.

IV.

The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;

But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,

My dear;

Never to meet again.

ས.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;

I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear;

The lee-lang night, and weep.

[Hogg, in his notes to the Jacobite Reliques, says this song was written by Captain Ogilvie, who was killed on the banks of the Rhine, in the year 1695. Sir Walter Scott, in the last edition of his works, refers to his beautiful song "A weary lot is thine," in the third canto of Rokeby, and says "The last verse is taken from the fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beautiful which seems to express the fortunes of some follower of the Stuart family." The song, as copied by Scott, is nearly word for word with that of Burns in the fifth volume of Johnson's Musical Museum: it is, nevertheless, probable that the Poet rather beautified or amended some ancient strain which he had discovered, than wrote it wholly from his own heart and fancy.-ED.]

song,

O STEER HER UP.

Tune-" O steer her up, and haud her gaun.”

I.

O steer her up and haud her gaun-
Her mother's at the mill, jo;
And gin she winna take a man,
E'en let her take her will, jo:
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss,
And ca' another gill, jo,
And gin she take the thing amiss,
E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

II.

O steer her up, and be na blate,
An' gin she take it ill, jo,
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate,

And time nae longer spill, jo:
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,
But think upon it still, jo ;
Then gin the lassie winna do't,
Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.

[Allan Ramsay found a wild old song of this name and measure, and adopting the first four lines, penned a drinking ditty, which may be found in the Tea Table Miscellany. The second verse will be sample sufficient :

"See that shining glass of claret,

How invitingly it looks;
Take it aff, and let's hae mair o't—

Pox on fighting, trade, and books:
Let's have pleasure while we're able,
Bring us in the mickle bowl;
Place't on the middle o' the table,

And let wind and weather yowl."

Burns took the first four lines of the old strain, and eked them out in his own way: he, however, glanced at the ancient verses, and may be said to have removed both their indelicacy and their wit.-ED.]