My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, Yestreen, at the Valentine's dealing, The last Halloween I lay waukin— My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; His likeness cam' up the house staukin, An' the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! Come, counsel, dear Tittie! don't tarry- The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. [The following is not partially, but wholly, the Poet's production.] Tune-"Carron Side." FRAE the friends and land I love, Driven by Fortune's felly spite, Frae my best beloved I rove, Never mair to taste delight; Never mair maun hope to find, Ease frae toil, relief frae care: When remembrance wracks the mind, Pleasures but unveil despair. Brightest climes shall mirk appear, Desert ilka blooming shore, Till the Fates, nae mair severe, Friendship, love, and peace restore; Till Revenge, wi' laurelled head, CRAIGIE-BURN. [The following stanzas were written by Burns to further the suit of his friend, Mr. Gillespie, then trying to gain the hand of Jean Lorrimer (daughter of a substantial farmer of Kemmis Hall), who had been born at Craigieburn. The heroine of this, and of eight other of the Poet's most exquisite lyrics, was one of the fairest of fair blondes-the Chloris of his songs-the one about whom he wrote Sae flaxen were her ringlets," and "Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks." Her after-history was marked by many sad vicissitudes. Estranged from Mr. Gillespie before he had made much advance in his courtship, she married an Englishman named Whelp. dale, whose prodigal expenditure led at last to their separation-the fair-haired Jean Lorrimer, that had been, dying at length, in the September of 1831, after having struggled through years of broken health and the bitterest impoverishment.] Tune-"Craigie-burn-wood." SWEET closes the evening on Craigieburn-wood, And blithely awaukens the morrow: But the pride of the spring in the Craigieburn-wood Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, And oh, to be lying beyond thee! Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep That's laid in the bed beyond thee! I see the spreading leaves and flowers, LAMENT. WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET was [The following verses were published originally in the Dumfries Journal.] Tune-"The Banks of the Devon." O'ER the mist-shrouded cliffs of their lone mountain straying, Where the will winds of winter incessantly rave, What woes wring my heart while intently surveying HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. [The subjoined first appeared as by Burns in the volume of his works edited by Allan Cunningham.] Here around the ingle bleezing, Wha sae happy and sae free; Though the northern wind blaws freezing, Frien'ship warms baith you and me. Happy we are a' thegither, Happy we 'll be yin an' a'; Time shall see us a' the blither, Ere we rise to gang awa'! The storm's gloomy path on the breast See the miser o'er his treasure of the wave! Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail, Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore; Where the flower which bloomed sweetest in Coila's green vale, The pride of my bosom, my Mary's no more! No more by the banks of the streamlet we 'll wander, And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; No more shall my arms cling with fond ness around her, Gloating wi' a greedy e'e! Can the peer in silk and ermine, Ca' his conscience half his own? Happy we are a' thegither, &c. Aff our stoups o' generous flame; An while roun' the board 't is passing, Raise a sang in frien'ship's name. Happy we are a' thegither, &c. For the dewdrops of morning fall cold Frien'ship mak's us a' mair happy, MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. [Published first in Johnson's Museum, the following lyric won for itself a marvellous popu larity in after years when sung by Templeton.] Tune-"Lord Elcho's Favourite." O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, him. It's a' for the apple he 'll nourish the tree; For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, The lawin, the lawin, It's a' for the hiney he 'll cherish the That heals the wounds o' care and dool; bee; My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the An ye drink but deep ye 'll find him out. siller, He canna ha'e luve to spare for me. Your proffer o' luve 's an airl-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin', Sac ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye 're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, [Then, guidwife, count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin; THERE 'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. [These stanzas were adapted by Burns to a fine Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten old Jacobite air, and despatched with evident tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, nor me. GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN. [The refrain alone in this song is ancient, the rest being original.] Tune-"Guidwife, count the lawin." GANE is the day, and mirk 's the night, gusto in a letter to Alexander Cunningham on few guid fellows when Willie's awa'." By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey; And as he was singing, the tears fast down came There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes The Church is in ruins, the State is in wars: L We dare na weel say 't, but we ken But aye the tear comes in my e'e, My seven braw sons for Jamie drew And now I greet round their green beds in the yird : It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame There 'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. Now life is a burden that bows me down, crown; To think on him that 's far awa'. My father pat me frae his door, My friends they ha'e disowned me a', The bonnie lad that 's far awa'; The bonnie lad that 's far awa'. A pair o' gloves he bought for me, And silken snoods he ga'e me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonnie lad that's far awa'; But till my last moment my words are And I will wear them for his sake, FAIR. of their estrangement, she was constrained by her I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE father to hide her miseries for a while under a relation's roof-beams at Paisley. The root idea of the song the Poet caught from an old ditty in Herd's collection.] Tune-"Over the hills and far away.” O How can I be blithe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa'? When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa'? It's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw; It [An old love song was here for once scarcely I do confess thee sweet, yet find That kisseth everything it meets; |