My darling, my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.
There is one of Lady Nairne's songs not quite perfect, for one forced and faulty line in the refrain, which has a higher touch of the imagination than any of the others. The influence of the magic of nature in the interpretation of human sorrow or gladness, and the wild mystery of the birds' melody upon the heart, which is characteristic of the highest order of the folk-song, and which, in its irregularity and simplicity, not less than the melody, which is nature's own voice, rather than the rhythm of art, is beyond the reach of any deliberate skill. It would be hard to find anything more perfect at once in its picture and its interpretation of the voice of nature in human words than—
And then the burnie's like the sea,
Roarin' an' reamin';
Nae wee bit sangster's on the tree,
But wild birds screamin'.
While the sadness of human despair that follows and emphasizes the passion of the flood strikes the ear like a veritable wail in the loneliness and darkness.
Bonnie ran the burnie down,