The weeping willow, I am afraid, seldom hangs its long and melancholy boughs in natural Scottish landscape; and in this very pretty song, we must either consider it as an intruder or a figure of speech. The crown of sedge and the garland of willow are green in many an ancient poem and song but I am sorry that Tannahill injured the effect of this beautiful composition by introducing them: they give the air of affectation to verses otherwise very natural and sweet. I LOVE MY JEAN. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo❜e best: Where wild woods grow, and rivers row, Wi' mony a hill between ; I see her in the dewy flowers, There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green; But minds me o' my Jean. O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale, What sighs and vows, amang the knowes, Hae past atween us twa! How fain to meet, how wae to part, That day she gaed awa! "I composed this song," says Burns, "out of compliment to Mrs. Burns;—it was during the honey-moon." Such is the brief and lively way in which our great lyric bard informs us of the willing homage which his Muse paid to faithful domestic love and wedded affection. If I am asked the reason why the two first verses of this exquisite pastoral are only printed in his works, I can give no satisfactory answer. All the four have been long popular, and are well known to have come from the poet's pen. In poetical beauty and truth they are all alike, and I hope they will never more be separated. WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT. O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, We arena fou, we're no that fou, Here are we met, three merry boys, Yon is the moon, I ken her horn, That's blinkin in the lift sae hie; Wha first shall rise to gang awa, A cuckold, coward loon is he! Wha last beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three! The three heroes celebrated in this song are William Nicol, Allan Masterton, and Robert Burns. They met at the farm-house of Laggan in Nithsdale, the property of Nicol, and gave "one day's discharge to care" over the punch-bowl. This memorable house-heating was celebrated by Robert and Allan in their own peculiar way. The latter wrote the music, and the former the song, while Nicol rewarded them with "wine and wassail." All the three found early graves. Burns himself was a most hospitable and convivial man. His famous punch-bowl, while he resided at Ellisland, was frequently filled to his own satisfaction, and emptied to the delight of his friends. After his death it was presented to Alexander Cunningham of Edinburgh by the poet's family, as a mark of esteem and gratitude. Cunningham went the way of the poet, and the bowl passed from beneath the auctioneer's hammer, at the price of eighty pounds, into the hands of a speculating tavern-keeper, and from thence into the pawnshop; out of which place it was redeemed, at more than the original cost, by my friend Archibald Hastie, Esq. of West-place, London. I am glad that it has at last found sanctuary with one who, while he watches over it as a zealous catholic would watch over the "true bloody stone of Thomas-a-Becket," submits it cheerfully at set times and seasons to the curiosity of his friends, reeking to the brim with the fragrant liquid which its first great owner loved. The bowl is made of black Scottish marble, brimmed and bottomed with silver. GALLA-WATER. There's braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla-water. Although his daddie was nae laird, We'll tent our flocks by Galla-water. That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure! |