IV.

I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love rolling e'e; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree?--Jessy! Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear--Jessy!

* * * * *

CCLXVIII.

FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS.

Tune--"_Rothemurche._"

[On the 12th of July, 1796, as Burns lay dying at Brow, on the Solway, his thoughts wandered to early days, and this song, the last he was to measure in this world, was dedicated to Charlotte Hamilton, the maid of the Devon.]