ess of the emotions,
and

"Within _her_ mighty page,
Each tyrant passion shews his woe and rage."

The tragedies of "Count Basil" and "De Montfort" are her best plays, and
are well termed by Sir Walter Scott a revival of the great Bard of Avon.
Forcible and energetic in style, her strain never becomes turgid or
diverges into commonplace. She is masculine, but graceful; and powerful
without any ostentation of strength. Her personal history was the
counterpart of her writings. Gentle in manners and affable in
conversation, she was a model of the household virtues, and would have
attracted consideration as a woman by her amenities, though she had
possessed no reputation in the world of letters. She was eminently
religious and benevolent. Her countenance bore indication of a superior
intellect and deep penetration. Though her society was much cherished by
her contemporaries, including distinguished foreigners who visited the
metropolis, her life was spent in general retirement. She was averse to
public demonstration, and seemed scarcely conscious of her power. She
died at Hampstead, on the 23d of February 1851, at the very advanced age
of eighty-nine, and a few weeks after the publication of her whole Works
in a collected form.

The songs of Joanna Baillie immediately obtained an honourable place in
the minstrelsy of her native kingdom. They are the simple and graceful
effusions of a heart passionately influenced by the melodies of the
"land of the heath and the thistle," and animated by those warm
affections so peculiarly nurtured in the region of "the mountain and the
flood." "Fy, let us a' to the wedding," "Saw ye Johnnie comin'?" "It
fell on a morning when we were thrang," and "Woo'd, and married, and
a'," maintain popularity among all classes of Scotsmen throughout the
world. Several of the songs were written for Thomson's "Melodies," and
"The Harp of Caledonia," a collection of songs published at Glasgow in
1821, in three vols. 12mo, under the editorial care of John Struthers,
author of "The Poor Man's Sabbath." The greater number are included in
the present work.

[28] _Literary Gazette_, March 1851.

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN.

I 've no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake,
Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake,
Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree--
Yet the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

Soft tapping, at eve, to her window I came,