JOHN HAY'S BONNIE LASSIE. From the "Tea-Table Miscellany." By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining, To my bonny Hay that I am her lover! Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes stranger; She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, But if she appears where verdure invites her, The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter; 'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flowing; Her smiles and bright eyes set my spirits a-glowing. The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded, For a' my desire is John Hay's bonnie lassie. Mr. Chambers states that there is a tradition in Roxburghshire that this song was written by a carpenter or joiner in honour of a daughter of John Hay, first Marquis of Tweeddale. JOHN HAY'S BONNIE MARY. From Peter Buchan's manuscript collection of ancient and traditional As I gaed down an' farther down, An' down into a cellar, There I saw the bonniest lass Was writing a letter. She was writing an' inditing, And losing her colour, Cost me a dollar. Cost me a dollar, An' a glass o' canary; Of John Hay's bonnie Mary! John Hay's bonnie Mary ; For John Hay's bonnie Mary! Her father was handsome, But as for their daughter, Wi' John Hay's bonnie lassie. THY FATAL SHAFTS. TOBIAS SMOLLETT, the novellist, born 1721, died 1774. THY fatal shafts unerring move, Glide swift through all my vital frame. For while I gaze my bosom glows, My falt'ring tongue attempts in vain Condemn'd to nurse eternal care, YE rivers so limpid and clear, Who reflect, as in cadence you flow, All the beauties that vary the year, All the flow'rs on your margins that grow; How blest on your banks could I dwell, Were Margret the pleasure to share, And teach your sweet echoes to tell Ye harvests, that wave in the breeze In pensive regret whilst I rove, The fragrance of flow'rs to inhale; If anxious to flatter my woes, Or the languor of absence to cheer, Her breath I would catch in the rose, Or her voice in the nightingale hear; To cheat my despair of its prey, What object her charms can assume! How harsh is the nightingale's lay! How insipid the rose's perfume! Ye zephyrs that visit my fair, Ye sunbeams around her that play, Does her sympathy dwell on my care? Does she number the hours of my stay? First perish ambition and wealth, First perish all else that is dear, Ere one sigh should escape her by stealth, When, when shall her beauties once more When I bask'd in the beams of her eyes; BENEATH A GREEN SHADE. DR. THOMAS BLACKLOCK. BENEATH a green shade a lovely young swain The winds ceased to breathe, and the fountain to flow; How happy, he cried, my moments once flew, Through changes in vain relief I pursue, All, all but conspire my griefs to renew ; But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires; MY SHEEP I NEGLECTED. SIR GILBERT ELLIOT of Minto, born 1722, died 1777, first Earl of Minto. My sheep I neglected-I lost my sheep-hook, |