The choice of the cow is natural. The old song very escaped the research of Herd, and the clutch of Johnson. JOHN ANDERSON MY JO. John Anderson my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: But hand in hand we'll go, And we'll sleep thegither at the foot, Tradition has bestowed on the ancient John Anderson of Scottish song the lucrative situation of piper to the town of Kelso; no wonder, therefore, that we find him listening to the invitation of a Kelso dame to partake of a sheep's-head pie. The old verses which introduce honest John to our notice are rude and graphic. The reformers inoculated them with a controversial and satiric meaning, and took them into the service of the kirk:-see how they tear off the scarlet robes from the Roman lady. And how many bairns have ye? Quoth the cummer, seven. For five o' them were gotten When he was far awa. The two lawful bairns were Baptism and the Lord's Supper; the spurious progeny were Penance, Confirmation, Extreme unction, Ordination, and Marriage. Those five illegitimate bairns of the scarlet lady were all rejected by the reformers. PEGGY ALISON. Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, Young kings upon their hansel throne Are no sae blest as I am! I'll kiss thee yet, yet, An' I'll kiss thee o'er again, An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, The name of Peggy Alison gives an air of truth and reality to this little warm and affectionate song, which the classical name of Chloe, Chloris, or Daphne, would fail to bestow. We imagine that the heroine has lived and breathed among us, and repaid the admiration of the poet by a smile and a salute-but we have no such lively feeling concerning the ladies of pastoral romance. song is by Burns, and one of his early compositions. The CHEROKEE INDIAN DEATH SONG. The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, Remember the arrows he shot from his bow; Why so slow? Do you wait till I shrink from the pain? Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation away. Now the flame rises fast; ye exult in my pain; But the son of Alknomook can never complain. I my go to the land where father is gone: His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. Death comes like a friend, to relieve me from pain; And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to complain! The original power and happy genius of this song are universally felt. The tranquil heroism, the calm endurance and dignity of nature of the son of Alknomook, take possession of our hearts: we cannot forget, if we would, the savage hero whose virtues the Muse of Campbell has dashed off in one happy line: A stoic of the woods, a man without a tear. It is the composition of Anne Home, wife of the celebrated John Hunter, and sister to Sir Everard Home, Bart. THE EVENING STAR. How sweet thy modest light to view, Like beauty shining through the tear; To mark each image trembling there,- Though blazing o'er the arch of night, That soon the sun will rise again. |