His Mailie's dead!

How long he continued to mourn for Ellison Begbie, it is hard to say;
but the three following songs, inspired, it would seem, by three
different girls, testify at once to his power of recuperation and the
rapid maturing of his talent. All seem to have been written between
the date of his return from Irvine and the death of his father.


MARY MORISON

O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, [bear, struggle]
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string [Last night]
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', [went]
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, [fine]
And yon the toast of a' the town, [the other]
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
'Ye are na Mary Morison.'

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,