ye by the burn,
And walk ye slow and sly;
My certie! weel ye ken the gate
That Geordie Young comes by!

His plighted troth is mine, mother,
And lang afore the spring
I 'll loose my silken snood, mother,
And wear the gowden ring.

MY FAIRY ELLEN.

Beautiful moon! wilt thou tell me where
Thou lovest most to be softly gleaming?
Is it on some rich bank of flowers
Where 'neath each blossom a fay lies dreaming?
Or is it on yonder silver lake
Where the fish in green and gold are sparkling?
Or is it among those ancient trees
Where the tremulous shadows move soft and darkling?
Oh, no! said the moon, with a playful smile,
The best of my beams are for ever dwelling
In the exquisite eyes, so deeply blue,
And the eloquent glance of the fairy Ellen.

Gentlest of zephyrs! pray tell me how
Thou lovest to spend a serene May morning,
When dew-drops are twinkling on every bough,
And violets wild each glade adorning?
Is it in kissing the glittering stream,
O'er its pebbly channel so gaily rippling?
Is it in sipping the nectar that lies
In the bells of the flowers--an innocent tippling?
Oh no! said the zephyr, and softly sigh'd,
His voice with a musical melody swelling,
All the mornings of May 'mong the ringlets I play
That dance on the brow of the fairy Ellen.

White little lily! pray tell me when
Thy happiest moments the fates allow thee?
Thou seemest a favourite with bees and men,
And all the boys and butterflies know thee;
Is it at dawn or at sunset hour
That pleasantest fancies are o'er thee stealing?
One would think thee a poet, to judge by thy looks,
Or at least a pale-faced man of feeling?
Oh no! said the lily, and slightly blush'd,
My highest ambition 's to be sweet smelling,
To live in the sight, and to die on the breast
Of the fairest of beings, the fairy Ellen.

Oh! would that I were the moon myself,
Or a balmy zephyr, fresh fragrance breathing;
Or a white-crown'd lily, my slight green stem
Slily around that dear neck wreathing!
Worlds would I give to bask in those eyes,
Stars, if I had them, for one of those tresses,
My heart and my soul, and my body to boot,
For merely the smallest of all her kisses!
And if she would love me, oh heaven and ea