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Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
[Green grow the rashes, O.!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I
spent
Were spent amang the lasses, O!]

RANTIN' ROVIN' ROBIN.

[In this famous song about himself, Burns, it will be remarked, celebrates in the second stanza the partial destruction of the auld clay biggin, in which he was born, a few nights after his making his appearance in the world, only, confusing the date of his birth with the date of the accident, he attributes the latter not to a blast of February, as it was, in point of fact, but to one of January.]

Tune-"Daintie Davie.'

THERE was a lad was born in Kyle,
But what'n a day o' what'n a style
I doubt it's hardly worth the while
To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,
Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin!

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane
Was five-and-twenty days begun,
'T was then a blast o' Janwar win'
Blew hansel in on Robin.
Robin was a rovin' boy, &c.

The gossip keekit in his loof;
Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof,
This waly boy will be nae coof,—
I think we 'll ca' him Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy, &c.

He'll ha'e misfortunes great and sma',

But aye a heart aboon them a';
He'll be a credit till us a',
We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy, &c.

But, sure as three times three mak' nine,
I
see, by ilka score and line,
This chap will dearly like our kin',—
So leeze me on thee, Robin!
Robin was a rovin' boy, &c.

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar
The bonnie lasses lie aspar;
But twenty fau'ts ye may ha'e waur,—
So blessin's on thee, Robin!

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';
Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin!

THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.

[Burns's Highland Mary, the heroine of the subjoined as well as of other and immeasurably finer lyrics from the same master-hand, was Mary Campbell, of Campbeltown in Argyleshire. At the time of the Poet's intimacy with her, she was a nurserymaid in the family of his friend, landlord, and general adviser, Gavin Hamilton. Particulars need not be reprinted here, which have already been duly set forth in the Introductory Biography, with reference to this most pathetic episode in the life of the Ayrshire Ploughman.]

Tune-"The deuks dang o'er my daddy."
NAE gentle dames, though e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my Muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show,
Gi'e me my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine;
The world then the love should know,
I bear my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O, &c.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow,
I'll love my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O, &c.

Although through foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour's glow,
My faithful Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O, &c.

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace the distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O, &c.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour's band:
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low
I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O!

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, O!
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O!

translated from Euripides. Burns could give no clue whatever as to their authorship, and, regarding them as suitable for music, took the trouble of copying them out and sending them to Johnson for his Museum. There, in due course, they appeared, and thence, through a not unreasonable misapprehension, they were taken, to be included among his collected Songs, tallying so distinctly as they did with his lyrical manner, and fitting in to a nicety, as they seemed to do, with his ill-fated love for his Highland Mary.]

Tune-"Blue bonnets."

[POWERS celestial! whose protection
Ever guards the virtuous fair,
While in distant climes I wander,
Let my Mary be your care;
Let her form, sae fair and faultless,
Fair and faultless as your own,
Let my Mary's kindred spirit

Draw your choicest influence down.

Make the gales you waft around her

Soft and peaceful as her breast; Breathing in the breeze that fans her, Soothe her bosom into rest: Guardian angels! O protect her, When in distant lands I roam; To realms unknown while fate exiles me, Make her bosom still my home!]

MARY.

[Nearly a hundred years after date, namely, in 1871, these stanzas, which have always been printed among the works of Burns as penned by him in celebration of Mary Campbell, were found by James Christie, the librarian of Dollar Institution, to have been, after all, merely copied by the Poet from an old monthly periodical of 1774, the Edinburgh Magazine. They were then published anonymously, as having been

HER FLOWING LOCKS.

[Cromek says that Burns had his foot in the stirrup one afternoon to mount and ride from

Ayr to Mauchline, when he caught sight of the beautiful creature who at once inspired him to the composition of these dainty verses.]

HER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Adown her neck and bosom hing; How sweet unto that breast to cling,

And round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast her bonnie mou'!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.

THE MAUCHLINE LADY.

[This was another of his many tributes to his darling Jean, the wife of his bosom, and the mother of his children.]

Tune-"I had a horse and I had nae mair."

WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was na steady;
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
A mistress still I had aye.

But when I came roun' by Mauchline

town,

Not dreadin' ony body,

My heart was caught before I thought, And by a Mauchline lady.

ROB MOSSGIEL.

[Burns originally produced this as an impromptu in the early part of 1784, when he was at Mossgiel. It was restricted then to the first and third quatrains, but later on was expanded to a Song by the interpolation of the second and the addition of the fourth stanza.]

Tune-"Mauchline Belles."

O LEAVE novels, ye Mauchline belles! Ye're safer at your spinning wheel; Such witching books are baited hooks

For rakish rooks-like Rob Mossgiel.

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons,

They make your youthful fancies reel; They heat your veins, and fire your brains,

And then ye 're prey for Rob Mossgiel.

Beware a tongue that 's smoothly hung,
A heart that warmly seems to feel;
That feeling heart but acts a part-
'T is rakish art in Rob Mossgiel.

The frank address, the soft caress,

Are worse than poisoned darts of steel;

The frank address, and politesse,
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel.

THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE.

[These "Six proper young belles" were later on married-Miss (Helen) Miller to Dr. Mace kenzie of Mauchline; Miss Markland to Mr. James Finlay, exciseman of Tarbolton; Miss Jane Smith to Mr. James Candlish, one of their sons becoming the celebrated Dr. Candlish of the Free Kirk; Miss Betty (Miller) to Mr. Templeton; Miss Morton to Mr. Paterson; and Jean Armour, "the jewel o' them a'," to that song-writing farmer of Mossgiel, who has preserved the memory of them all by the light of his celebrity.]

Tune-"Bonnie Dundee."

IN Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles,

The pride o' the place and its neighbourhood a';

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,

In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a'.

the hill,

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's Auld Phoebus himsel', as he peeped o'er divine, Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty In spite, at her plumage he tried his

[blocks in formation]

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' He levelled his rays where she basked on

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But Armour's the jewel for me o' His rays were outshone, and but marked them a'.

where she lay.

I rede you beware, &c.

HUNTING SONG.

They hunted the valley, they hunted the

hill,

The best of our lads, wi' the best o' their skill;

[These verses were composed in January, 1788, but not handed on by Burns to either Thomson But still as the fairest she sat in their or Johnson. They were first published by Cromek in the Reliques.]

Tune-"I rede you beware at the hunting."

THE heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,

Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the dawn,

O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony a

glen;

At length they discovered a bonnie moorhen.

I rede you beware at the hunting,

young men ;

I rede you beware at the hunting,

young men ;

Tak' some on the wing, and some as

they spring,

But cannily steal on a bonnie moorhen.

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather-bells,

Her colours betrayed her on yon mossy

fells;

Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring,

And oh as she wantonèd gay on the wing.

I rede you beware, &c.

sight

Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a

flight.

I rede you beware at the hunting,

young men ;

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ;

Tak' some on the wing, and some as

they spring,

But cannily steal on a bonnie moor hen.

O WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I

REPINE?

[This was an impromptu blurted out by Burns in the April of 1782, upon his return to Lochlea

after his unlucky six months at Irvine as a flax-
dresser. Half a dozen years later he wrote
"Early in life, and all my life, I reckoned on a
recruiting drum as my forlorn hope."]

O WHY the deuce should I repine,
An' be an ill foreboder?
I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine-
I'll go and be a sodger.

I gat some gear wi' meikle care,

I held it weel thegither;

But now it's gane and something mairI'll go and be a sodger.

ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST.

[Here follows an adaptation by Burns of the choral snatch of an old song to an incident, not in his own history, as was at one time conjectured, with especial reference to his love for Jean Armour, but to a circumstance in the life of his friend Robert Ainslie, to whom he wrote on the 6th January, 1789, enclosing these verses.]

I GAED up to Dunse,

To warp a wab o' plaiden;

At his daddie's yett,

Wha met me but Robin?
[Robin shure in hairst,
I shure wi' him;
Fient a heuk had I,
Yet I stack by him.]

Was na Robin bauld,
Though I was a cotter,
Played me sic a trick-

And me the eller's dochter?
[Robin shure in hairst, &c.]

Robin promised me

A' my winter vittle; Fient haet he had but three Goose feathers and a whittle. [Robin shure in hairst, I shure wi' him; Fient a heuk had I,

Yet I stack by him.]

SWEETEST MAY.

[What seems remarkable about this little atom of a song is, that, although restricted to no more than four rhymes, not one among them is accurate.]

SWEETEST May, let love inspire thee;
Take a heart which he desires thee;
As thy constant slave regard it;
For its faith and truth reward it.

Proof o shot to birth or money, Not the wealthy, but the bonnie; Not high-born, but noble-minded, In love's silken band can bind it!

KATHERINE JAFFRAY.

[This was printed first in the Aldine edition of Burns, from a manuscript in his handwriting. There appears to be considerable doubt, however, as to whether it was really his, Pickering's reference to the MS. furnishing no clue whatever as to the authorship.]

[THERE lived a lass in yonder dale,
And down in yonder glen, O!
And Katherine Jaffray was her name,
Weel known to many men, O!

Out came the Lord of Lauderdale,
Out frae the South countrie, O!
All for to court this pretty maid,

Her bridegroom for to be, O!

He's telled her father and mother baith, As I hear sundry say, O!

But he has na telled the lass hersel'

'Till on her wedding-day, O!

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