MY NANNIE'S AWA.

BURNS. Air-"There'll never be peace until Jamie comes hame."

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat ower the braes,
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;
But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa.

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw;
They mind me o' Nannie—and Nannie's awa.

Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
The shepherd to warn of the grey-breaking dawn;
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa',
Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa.

Come, Autumn, sae pensive in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay;
The dark dreary winter and wild driving snaw
Alane can delight me―
-my Nannie's awa.

The germ of "Nannie's Awa" is to be found in one of Clarinda's letters (see Correspondence, &c., page 185), written thirty-five days after they became acquainted. They were about to part, and she says:-"You'll hardly write me once a month, and other objects will weaken your affection for Clarinda; yet I cannot believe so. Oh! let the scenes of nature remind you of Clarinda! In winter, remember the dark shades of her fate; in summer, the warmth, the cordial warmth of her friendship; in autumn, her glowing wishes to bestow plenty on all; and let spring animate you with hope that your poor friend may yet live to surmount the wintry blast of life, and revive to taste a spring-time of happiness!" This passage, so beautifully descriptive, in the letter of his fair correspondent, was not overlooked by Burns. He says in reply:-" There is one fine passage in your last charming letter-Thomson nor Shenstone never exceeded it, nor often came up to it. I shall certainly steal it, and set it in some future production, and get immortal fame by it. 'Tis where you bid the scenes of nature remind me of Clarinda." The poet was as good as his word. Some months after Clarinda had left this country, Burns, reverting to the passage we have quoted from her letter, made it his own by stamping it in immortal verse, bewailing the absence of Clarinda in a strain of rural imagery that has seldom or never been surpassed."- Cursory Remarks on Scottish Song, by Captain Charles Gray, R.M.

WANDERING WILLIE.

BURNS. Air-" Wandering Willie.'

HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bringst me my Willie the same.

Winter-winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my ee;
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie,—
As simmer to nature, so Willie to me.

Rest, ye wild storms, in the caves o'
How

slumbers;

your your dread howlings a lover alarms! Blow soft, ye breezes, roll gently, ye billows,

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds not his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou dark heaving main;
May I never see it, may I never trow it;

While dying I think that my Willie's my ain!

This song was altered by Mr. Erskine and Mr. George Thomson. Burns, with his usual sound judgment, adopted some of these alterations, and rejected others.

MY NANNIE O.

BURNS.

BEHIND yon hills where Lugar flows
Mang moors an' mosses many O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,
And I'll awa to Nannie O.

The westlan wind blaws loud an' shrill,
The night's baith mirk and rainy 0;
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,
An' ower the hills to Nannie O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye 0;
May ill befa' the flatt'ring tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie O;
The opening gowan wet wi' dew
Nae purer is than Nannie O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me 0;
But what care I how few they be?
I'm welcome aye to Nannie O.

My riches a' 's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are o' my Nannie O.

Our auld gudeman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie O;
But I'm as blithe that hauds his pleugh,
An' hae nae care but Nannie O.

Come weel, come wae, I care na by,
I'll take what Heaven will sen' me O;

Nae ither care in life have I

But live an' love my Nannie O.

Burns founded this song upon a pre-existing one of a similar title. The name of the river which it celebrated was the Stinchar.

"In the printed copy of My Nannie O,'" he says, in a letter to Thomson, "the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it to Behind yon hills where Lugar flows.' Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeeble modulation of syllables." The heroine of this song, written when the poet was very young, was Agnes Fleming, daughter of a small farmer in the parish of Tarbolton, Ayrshire. Allan Ramsay wrote a song to the same exquisite melody, but it is in no respect equal to the song of Burns. The air is exceedingly beautiful, and is believed to be old. It cannot, however, be traced further back than the "Orpheus Caledonians," 1725.

THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS.

BURNS. Air-"Seventh of November."

THE day returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toil'd,

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more-it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live!
When that grim foe of life below

Comes in between to make us part;
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my
bliss-it breaks my

heart.

The air was the composition of Robert Riddell, Esq., of Glenriddell, in honour of whose marriage Burns wrote the song. The seventh of November was Mr. Riddell's wedding day.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fou o' care!

Ye'll break my heart, ye little birds,

That wanton through the flowery thorn;
Ye mind me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

*"There is an air," says Burns, in a letter to Mr. Thomson," called 'The Caledonian Hunt's delight,' to which I wrote a song that you will find in Johnson. 'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,' might, I think, find a place among your hundred, as Lear says of his nights. Do you know the history of the air? It is curious enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James Miller, writer in your good town, a gentleman whom possibly you know, was in company with our friend Clarke; and talking of Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him to keep to the black keys of the harpsicord, and preserve some kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a Scots air. Certain it is that in a few days Mr. Miller produced the rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you know, has the same story of the black keys; but this account which I have just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several years ago. Now, to show you how difficult it is to trace the origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly asserted that this was an Irish air; nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed that he had heard it in Ireland among the old women; while, on the other hand, a countess informed me that the first person who introduced the air into this country was a baronet's lady of her acquaintance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in the Isle of Man. How difficult, then, to ascertain the truth respecting our poesy and music!"