ilds the dark shades of the tomb.
The tyrant, whose hands are red,
Trembles alone in bed;
But pure is the peasant's soul, pure as the snow,
No horror fiends haunt his rest,
Hope fills his placid breast,
Hope bright as dew on the hill of the roe."

Ceased the soft voice, for gray mist was descending,
Slow rose the bard and retired from the hill,
The blackbird's mild notes with the thrush's were blending,
Oft scream'd the plover her wild notes and shrill,
Yet still from the hoary bard,
Methought the sweet song I heard,
Mix'd with instruction and blended with woe;
And oft as I pass along,
Chimes in mine ear his song,
"Life's like the dew on the hill of the roe."

ISOBEL PAGAN.

The author of a sweet pastoral lyric, which has been praised both by
Robert Burns and Allan Cunningham, Isobel Pagan claims a biographical
notice. She was born in the parish of New Cumnock, Ayrshire, about the
year 1741. Deserted by her relations in youth, and possessing only an
imperfect education, she was led into a course of irregularities which
an early moral training would have probably prevented. She was lame and
singularly ill-favoured, but her manners were spirited and amusing. Her
chief employment was the composition of verses, and these she sung as a
mode of subsistence. She published, in 1805, a volume of doggerel
rhymes, and was in the habit of satirising in verse those who had
offended her. Her one happy effort in song-making has preserved her
name. She lived chiefly in the neighbourhood of Muirkirk. She died on
the 3d November 1821, in her eightieth year, and her remains were
interred in the churchyard of Muirkirk. A tombstone marks her grave.

CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES.[10]

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonnie dearie.

As I gaed down the water-side,
There I met my shepherd lad,
He row'd me sweetly in his plaid,
An' he ca'd me his dearie.

"Will ye gang down the water-side,
And see the waves sae sweetly glide
Beneath the hazels spreading wide?
The moon it shines fu' clearly.

"Ye shall get gowns and ribbons meet,
Cauf-leather shoon to thy white feet,
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep,
And ye shall be my dearie."

"If ye'll but stand to what ye've said,
I'se gang wi' you,