Tune—­“Miss Forbe’s farewell to Banff.”

     The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
     The flowers decay’d on Catrine lee,
     Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
     But nature sicken’d on the e’e. 
     Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
     Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while;
     And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
     Fareweel the braes o’ Ballochmyle!

     Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,
     Again ye’ll flourish fresh and fair;
     Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,
     Again ye’ll charm the vocal air. 
     But here, alas! for me nae mair
     Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile;
     Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
     Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!

Fragment—­Her Flowing Locks

     Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,
     Adown her neck and bosom hing;
     How sweet unto that breast to cling,
     And round that neck entwine her!

     Her lips are roses wat wi’ dew,
     O’ what a feast her bonie mou’! 
     Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
     A crimson still diviner!

Halloween^1

[Footnote 1:  Is thought to be a night when witches, devils, and other mischief-making beings are abroad on their baneful midnight errands; particularly those aerial people, the fairies, are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary,.—­R.B.]

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland.  The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.—­R.B.

     Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
     The simple pleasure of the lowly train;
     To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
     One native charm, than all the gloss of art.—­Goldsmith.

     Upon that night, when fairies light
     On Cassilis Downans^2 dance,
     Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
     On sprightly coursers prance;
     Or for Colean the rout is ta’en,
     Beneath the moon’s pale beams;
     There, up the Cove,^3 to stray an’ rove,
     Amang the rocks and streams
     To sport that night;

     [Footnote 2:  Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills,
     in the neighbourhood of the ancient seat of the Earls of
     Cassilis.—­R.B.]