When a' the lave' gae to their bed,
I wander dowie 2 up the glen;
I set me down and greet my fill,
And aye I wish him back again.
O, were some villains hangit high,
And ilka body had their ain!
Then I might see the joyfu' sight,
My Highland Harry back again.
O, for him back again!
O, for him back again!
I wad gi'e a' Knockhaspie's land
For Highland Harry back again.
Tune-"The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a'."
THE tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a',
The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a';
The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma’--
The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a'.
The sleepy bit lassie she dreaded nae ill;
The sleepy bit lassie she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.
Gi'e me the groat again, canny young man;
Gi'e me the groat again, canny young man;
The day it is short, and the night it is lang,—
The dearest siller that ever I wan!
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's some that are dowie, I traw wad be fain
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again.
Tune-"Bonnie Jean."
THERE was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk and market to be seen;
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.
Rest of the inmates of the house. 3 The second and fourth verses only of this song are by Burns. 4 Miss Jean McMurdo, of Drumlanrig.
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,
And aye she sang sae merrilie ;
The blithest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danced wi' Jeanie on the down;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.
As in the bosom o' the stream
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en;
So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.1
And now she works her mammie's wark,
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak' her weel again.
But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love
Ae e'enin' on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
And whispered thus his tale o' love :-
Oh, Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
Oh, canst thou think to fancy me?
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me.
In the original MS. Burns asks Mr. Thomson if this stanza is not original.
SIMMER'S À PLEASANT TÌME.
Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na:
At length she blushed a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.
SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME.'
Tune "Aye waukin o'."
SIMMER's a pleasant time;
Flowers of every colour;
The water rins o'er the heugh,
And I long for my true lover.
Aye waukin O,
Waukin still and wearie;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
When I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
Lanely night comes on,
A' the lave are sleepin';
I think on my bonnie lad,
And I bleer my een with greetin'.
Aye waukin O,
Waukin still and wearie;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
BEWARE O' BONNIE ANN.
Tune-"Ye gallants bright."
YE gallants bright, I rede ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimply laced her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.
The first verse is by Burns; the remainder had only the Lenefit of his
314 WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN WI' FLOWERS.
Youth, grace, and love attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van:
In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a',
Beware o' bonnie Ann!
[The heroine of this song was Ann Masterton, daughter of Allan Masterton, one of the Poet's friends, and author of the air of "Strathallan's Lament."]
WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN WI' FLOWERS.
Tune-"The gardener wi' his paidle."
WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours-
The gardener wi' his paidle.
The crystal waters gently fa';
The merry birds are lovers a';
The scented breezes round him blaw-
The gardener wi' his paidle.
When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then through the dews he maun repair
The gardener wi' his paidle.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of Nature's rest,
He flies to her arms he lo'es the best--
The gardener wi' his paidle.
Tune-"On a bank of flowers."
ON a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wandering through the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued,
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,
And trembled where he stood.
Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed,
Were sealed in soft repose;
Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed,
It richer dyed the rose.
The springing lilies sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton, kissed her rival breast;
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed-
His bosom ill at rest.
Her robes, light waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace!
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace!
Tumultous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed,
And sighed his very soul.
As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly, starting, half-awake,
Away affrighted springs;
But Willie followed-as he should,
He overtook her in the wood;
He vowed, he prayed, he found the maid
Forgiving all and good.
THE DAY RETURNS.'
Tune-"Seventh of November."
THE day returns, my bosom burns-
The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more-it made thee mine!
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give,
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone I live!
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.
1 Written in honour of the anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Riddel, of Friars-Carse.
|