IV.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!

* * * * *

CLXXXVII.

LORD GREGORY.

[Dr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's collection, in imitation of which Burns wrote his, and the Englishman complained, with an oath, that the Scotchman sought to rob him of the merit of his composition. Wolcot's song was, indeed, written first, but they are both but imitations of that most exquisite old ballad, "Fair Annie of Lochryan," which neither Wolcot nor Burns valued as it deserved: it far surpasses both their songs.]

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, Lord Gregory, ope thy door!

An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for loving thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove By bonnie Irwin-side, Where first I own'd that virgin-love I lang, lang had denied?

How often didst thou pledge and vow Thou wad for ay be mine; And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast-- Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, O wilt thou give me rest!