LIII.

HOW LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.

_To a Gaelic air._

[Composed for the Museum: the air of this affecting strain is true Highland: Burns, though not a musician, had a fine natural taste in the matter of national melodies.]

How long and dreary is the night When I am frae my dearie! I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary. I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.

When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie, And now what lands between us lie, How can I but be eerie! And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie!