The Complete Works of Robert Burns

It's no the frosty winter wind,
It's no the driving drift and snaw;
But ay the tear comes in my ee,

To think on him that's far awa.

My father pat me frae his door,

My friends they hae disown'd me a': But I hae ane will tak my part,

The bonie lad that's far awa.

A pair o' gloves he gae to me,

And silken snoods he gae me twa; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonie lad that's far awa.

The weary winter soon will pass,
And spring will cleed the birken-
shaw:

And my sweet babie will be born,

And he'll come hame that's far awa.

THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF
ANNA.

TUNE-" Banks of Banna,”
YESTREEN I had a pint o' wine,

A place where body saw na'; Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine The gowden locks of Anna.

BANKS OF

The hungry Jew in wilderness
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna."

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah!
Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
There I'll despise imperial charms,
An Empress or Sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms,
I give and take with Anna!
Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!
Awa, thou pale Diana!
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night,

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna!

POSTSCRIPT.

The kirk and state may join, and tell
To do such things I mauna:
The kirk and state may gae to hell,
And I'll gae to my Anna.
She is the sunshine o' my ee,

To live but her I canna;
Had I on earth but wishes three,
The first should be my Anna.

DEVON.

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair!
But the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew!
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,

And England triumphant display her proud rose;
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

ADOWN WINDING NITH.
TUNE-"The muckin o Geordie's byre."
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
To mark the sweet flowers as they
spring;

Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

CHORUS.

Awa wi' your belles and your beauties,

They never wi' her can compare; Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy,

So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is Simplicity's child.
Awa, &c.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,
But fairer and purer her breast.
Awa, &c.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne'er wi' my Phillis cau vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond, her eye.
Awa, &c.

Her voice is the song of the morning That wakes through the green-spreading grove

When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.
Awa, &c.

But beauty how frail and how fleeting,
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.
Awa, &c.

STREAMS THAT GLIDE.
TUNE"
-"Morag,"

STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chains!
Glowing here on golden sands,

There commix'd with foulest stains

From tyranny's empurpled bands:

These, their richly-gleaming waves,
I leave to tyrants and their slaves;
Give me the stream that sweetly laves
The banks by Castle Gordon.

Spicy forests, ever gay,
Shading from the burning ray
Hapless wretches sold to toil,
Or the ruthless native's way,
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
Woods that ever verdant wave,
I leave the tyrant and the slave,
Give me the groves that lofty brave

The storms, by Castle Gordon.

Wildly here without control,
Nature reigns and rules the whole;
In that sober pensive mood,
Dearest to the feeling soul,

She plants the forest, pours the flood;
Life's poor day I'll musing rave,
And find at night a sheltering cave,
Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonie Castle Gordon.

THE DEIL'S AWA' WI' THE EXCISEMAN.

THE De'il cam fiddling thro' the town,

And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman; And ilka wife cry'd "Auld Mahoun, We wish you luck o' your prize, man.

"We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,

We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice,

man;

And monie thanks to the muckle i black De'il

That danc'd awa wi' the Excise

man.

"There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,

There's hornpipes and strathspeys,

man;

But the ac best dance e'er cam to our lan', Was the De'il's awa wi' the Excise

man.

We'll mak our maut," &c.

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings:

THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween,

JAMIE.

TUNE-"Fee him, father."

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever;
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever.
Aften hast thou vow'd that death
Only should us sever;

Now thou'st left thy lass for aye-
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I'll see thee never!

To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe, in the birken shaw.

The princely revel may survey

Our rustic dance wi' scorn; But are their hearts as light as ours Beneath the milk-white thorn?

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