WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR.

ROBERT BURNS.

Wha is that at my bower door?'
() wha is it but Findlay;

Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!'
Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay.

What mak ye sae like a thief?'

O come and see, quo' Findlay;

'Before the morn ye'll work mischief;'

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Gif I rise and let you in;'

Let me in, quo' Findlay;

Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;'
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

In my bower, if ye should stay;'
Let me stay, quo' Findlay;

'I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;'
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

Here this night if ye remain;'
I'll remain, quo' Findlay;

I dread ye'll learn the gate again;'

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
What may pass within this bower'-
Let it pass, quo' Findlay;

Ye maun conceal till your last hour;'
Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

[An old copy of verses printed in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany, we are told by Gilbert Burns, gave his brother the hint of writing this See "The Auld Man's Address to the Widow,"

curious song.

O wha is at my chamber door

Fair widow are ye waukin,

called by Ramsay, "The Auld Man's best Argument."]

ANNA, THY CHARMS.

ROBERT BURNS.

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But, ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!

Yet in thy presence, lovely fair!

To hope may be forgiven;

For sure, 'twere impious to despair

So much in sight of heaven.

1.

[Inserted by Burns in the second edition of his poems, the first Edinburgh copy. The idea as Mr. Cunningham observes is taken from the last verse of Hamilton's very exquisite song:—

Ah! the poor shepherd's mournful fate.

See ante, p. 117. Mr. Motherwell justly remarks that "there is great point and elegance in this little lyric."]

THE POSIE.

ROBERT BURNS.

O luve will venture in, where it daurna weel be seen; O luve will venture in, where wisdom aince has been; But I will down yon river rove, among the wood s green

And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,

For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without

a peer

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phœbus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'; The hyacinth for constancy, wi' its unchanging blueAnd a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,

And in her lovely bosom, I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity, and unaffected air—
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

The hawthorn I will pu' wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of day.
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak
away-

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

SONGS OF SCOTLAND.

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear;

The violet's for modesty which weel she fa's to wear,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a'

above,

That to my latest draught of life the band shall ne'er

remove,

And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

[Professor Wilson has remarked, that similar sentiments inspired "The feeling of 'he Greek Meleager in his Heliodora's Garland.' lines," says Wilson, "is tender, and the expression perfect: but com. pare the courtier with the clown, Meleager with Burns. The Scot surpasses the Greek in poetry as well as in passion; his tenderness is more heartfelt, his expression more exquisite."]

JOHN ANDERSON.

ROBERT BURNS.

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonny brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

VOL. II.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither;
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

[“ John Anderson my Jo," was formed like many of Burns' lyrics on some old verses, which the reader will find in Percy's Reliques vol. ii. p. 131; they are scarcely worthy of being reprinted.]

OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.

ROBERT BURNS.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :

There wild-woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air: