EVAN BANKS.

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires;
To Evan banks, with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth, he leads the day.
O banks to me for ever dear!

O stream whose murmurs still I hear!
All, all my hopes of bliss reside
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye;
Does she, with heart unchanged as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde?

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound;
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;
What secret charm to memory brings,

All that on Evan's border springs?
Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side:

Blest stream! she views thee haste to Clyde.

Can all the wealth of India's coast
Atone for years in absence lost?
Return, ye moments of delight,
With richer treasures bless my sight!
Swift from this desert let me part,
And fly to meet a kindred heart!

Nor more may aught my steps divide

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde.

I found this song, when I was a boy, in an old Magazine, in a shepherd's shiel among the moorlands of Nithsdale, and I was so charmed with its descriptive beauty, that it was impressed on my memory at a couple of readings. It was printed in Burns's Réliques, by mistake, for one of his productions; this was corrected by one of the Reviews, which took the song from Burns and gave it to Miss Williams.

And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my parting sigh,
And long pursued me with her eye.

These are sweet and delicate lines, and worthy of the great poet to whom the song was erroneously imputed.

THE CRADLE SONG.

Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
For thou art doubly dear to me.
Thy daddie now is far awa,

A sailor laddie o'er the sea;
But hope ay hechts his safe return
Το you my bonnie lamb an' me.

Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e! Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me. Thy face is simple, sweet an' mild, Like ony summer e'ening fa'; Thy sparkling e'e is bonnie black; Thy neck is like the mountain snaw.

Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,
O saftly close thy blinkin' e'e!
Baloo, baloo, my wee wee thing,

For thou art doubly dear to me.
O but thy daddie's absence lang
Would break my dowie heart in twa,

Wert thou na left a dautit pledge,

To steal the eerie hours awa!

The highland Baloo, or nursing song, is of a martial character, and very unlike this sweet little effusion from the pen of Richard Gall.

Hey balou, my sweet wee Donald,
Image of the great Clanronald;
Brawly kens our wanton chief
Wha gat my young highland thief.

Leeze me on thy bonnie craigie!
An' thou live thou'll steal a naigie,
Travel the country through and through,
And bring me hame a Carlisle cow.

Through the lowlands, o'er the border,
Weel, my babie, mayest thou furder;
Herry the loons o' the low countrie,

Syne to the highlands hame to me.

The highland virago sees in imagination her son returning victorious from a foray, and rejoices in the resemblance which he bears to the head of the clan who had honoured her with his caresses. The more gentle lowland dame seeks to hush her own feelings and her child at the same time with the hope of her husband's return, the fair looks of her offspring, and the continuance of her love.

What said ye to the bonnie bairn,
My boy Tammy?

I praised her een, sae lovely blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou;-
I pree'd it aft, as ye may trow !-
She said, she'd tell her mammy.

I held her to my beating heart,
My young, my smiling Lammie!
I hae a house, it cost me dear,
I've wealth o' plenishen and gear;
Ye'se get it a' wer't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.