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ROBERT BURNS
AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY.
After a pretty long trial of the most ardent reciprocal affection, we met by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent a day in taking a farewell before she should embark for the West Highlands.
Burns' Letters.
A Highland girl, a peasant he,
To whom the present made
Within itself eternity,
And the whole world that shade
Beneath the trees which gently stirred
With music on each bough,
The waving leaf, the singing-bird,
And whispers fairy low,—
A long, a bright long summer's day
Passed, like the stream beside,
Which ran in shine and song away,
Though scarcely seen to glide.
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