O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away ; I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae's me! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; LADY A. LINDSAY. 153. DUNCAN GRAY. Duncan Gray cam here to woo, On blythe Yule night when we were fou, Maggie coost her head fu' high, Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; Time and chance are but a tide, How it comes let doctors tell, Something in her bosom wrings, And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace; R. BURNS. 154. THE SAILOR'S WIFE. And are ye sure the news is true? Is this a time to think o' wark? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; For I maun tell the baillie's wife For he's baith leal and true. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot; Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat ; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, There's twa fat hens upo' the coop And spread the table neat and clean, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't If Colin's weel, and weel content, And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house W. J. MICKLB. 155. JEAN. Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs, O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft That's aye sae neat and clean; What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae pass'd atween us twa! How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa! The Powers aboon can only ken To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean! 156. JOHN ANDERSON. R. BURNS. John Anderson my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, And mony a canty day, John, Now we maun totter down, John, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo. R. BURNS. 157. THE LAND O' THE LEAL. I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when it's thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal, |