The Providence Journal, And Town And Country Advertiser

From the New-York Daily Advertiser.

To the Editor.

SIR,

The following is the production of the late celebrated Robert Burns, the Ayrshire Bard, and I think one of his happiest productions. The heroine of this Song was a Miss F—, of Lochmaben, near Dumfries, since married: and after residing some time in Liverpool, came to this city with her husband, Mr. R—, where she now lives. It is so elegant a compliment to the Lady, that I am sure it will give no offence. The poetry and fancy I think pretty, and the insertion of it in your paper, will, I dare say, please a number of your readers, as well as

An Admirer of Burns.

THE BLUE-EY'D LASSIE.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear I'll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet e'en,
Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-white—
It was her e'en sae bonnie blue.

She talk'd—she smil'd—my heart she wyl'd,
She charm'd my soul, I wist na how;
And ay, the stound, the deadly wound,
Came frae her een sae bonnie blue.

But spare to speak, and spare to speed;
She'll ablins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.