I'LL NO WAKE WI' ANNIE.

I COMPOSED this pastoral ballad, as well as the air to which it is sung, whilst sailing one lovely day on St Mary's Loch; a pastime in which, above all others, I delighted, and of which I am now most shamefully deprived. Lord Napier never did so cruel a thing, not even on the high seas, as the interdicting of me from sailing on that beloved lake, which if I have not rendered classical, has not been my blame. But the credit will be his own,—that is some comfort.-The song was first harmonized by Mr Heather, London, and subsequently by Mr Dewar of Edinburgh; and is to be found in the Border Garland, last edition, published by Mr Purdie.

O, MOTHER, tell the laird o't,

Or sairly it will grieve me, O,
That I'm to wake the ewes the night,

And Annie's to gang wi' me, O.

I'll wake the ewes my night about,
But ne'er wi' ane sae saucy, O,
Nor sit my lane the lee-lang night
Wi' sic a scornfu' lassie, 0:
I'll no wake, I'll no wake,

I'll no wake wi' Annie, O;

Nor sit my lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

Dear son, be wise an' warie,

But never be unmanly, O;

I've heard ye tell another tale

Of young an' charming Annie, O.
The ewes ye wake are fair enough,
Upon the brae sae bonny, O;
But the laird himsell wad gie them a'
To wake the night wi' Annie, O.

He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O;

Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

P

I tauld ye ear', I tauld ye late,

That lassie wad trapan ye, O;

An' ilka word ye boud to say

When left alane wi' Annie, O!

Take my advice this night for aince,

Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, O, An' sey your leal auld mother's skill Ayont the muir wi' Annie, O.

He'll no wake, he'll no wake,

He'll no wake wi' Annie, O,

Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

The night it was a simmer night,
An' oh the glen was lanely, O!
For just ae sternie's gowden ee
Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, O.
The twa are in the flow'ry heath,
Ayont the muir sae flowy, O,
An' but ae plaid atween them baith,

An' wasna that right dowie, O?

He maun wake, he maun wake,
He maun wake wi' Annie, O;
An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

Neist morning at his mother's knee
He blest her love unfeign'dly, O;
An' aye the tear fell frae his ee,

An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, O.
"Of a' my griefs I've got amends,
In yon wild glen sae grassy, O;
A woman only woman kens,-
Your skill has won my lassie, O.
I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake,

I'll aye wake wi' Annie, O,

An' sit my lane ilk night wi' ane

Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, O!"

THE LASS O' CARLISLE.

I WROTE this daftlike song off-hand one day to fill up a page of a letter which was to go to Fraser by post, being averse to his paying for any blank paper. I did not deem it worthy of publication anywhere else; but after its having appeared in print, why, let it have a place here.

I'LL sing ye a wee bit sang,

A

sang i' the aulden style,

It is of a bonny young lass

Wha lived in merry Carlisle.
An' O but this lass was bonny,
An' O but this lass was braw,
An' she had gowd in her coffers,
An' that was best of a'.

Sing hey, hickerty dickerty,

Hickerty dickerty dear;

The lass that has gowd an' beauty

Has naething on earth to fear!