He saw her lonely on the beach;
He saw her on the strand;
And far as human eye can reach
He saw her wave her hand!

"O Rosabel! though forced to go,
With thee my soul shall dwell,
And Heaven, who pities human woe,
Will comfort Rosabel!"

JOHN HAMILTON.

Of the personal history of John Hamilton only a few particulars can be
ascertained. He carried on business for many years as a music-seller in
North Bridge Street, Edinburgh, and likewise gave instructions in the
art of instrumental music to private families. He had the good fortune
to attract the favour of one of his fair pupils--a young lady of birth
and fortune--whom he married, much to the displeasure of her relations.
He fell into impaired health, and died on the 23d of September 1814, in
the fifty-third year of his age. To the lovers of Scottish melody the
name of Mr Hamilton is familiar, as a composer of several esteemed and
beautiful airs. His contributions to the department of Scottish song
entitle his name to an honourable place.

THE RANTIN' HIGHLANDMAN.

Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out
To flit a tether'd ewe and lamb,
I met, as skiffin' ower the green,
A jolly, rantin' Highlandman.
His shape was neat, wi' feature sweet,
And ilka smile my favour wan;
I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad
As this young rantin' Highlandman.

He said, "My dear, ye 're sune asteer;
Cam' ye to hear the lav'rock's sang?
Oh, wad ye gang and wed wi' me,
And wed a rantin' Highlandman?
In summer days, on flow'ry braes,
When frisky are the ewe and lamb,
I 'se row ye in my tartan plaid,
And be your rantin' Highlandman.

"Wi' heather bells, that sweetly smell,
I 'll deck your hair, sae fair and lang,
If ye 'll consent to scour the bent
Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman.
We 'll big a cot, and buy a stock,
Syne do the best that e'er we can;
Then come, my dear, ye needna fear
To trust a rantin' Highlandman."

His words, sae sweet, gaed to my heart,
And fain I wad hae gi'en my han';
Yet durstna, lest my mither should
Dislike a rantin' Highlandman.
But I expect he will come back;
Then, though my kin should scauld and ban,
I 'll ower the hill, or whare he will,
Wi' my young rantin' Highlandman.

UP IN THE MORNIN' EARLY.[25]

Cauld blaws the wind frae