The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.
Without my love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie me Lucy in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky.
My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
Oh sweet is she in yon town,
Yon sinking sun's gaun down upon;
A fairer than's in yon town,
His setting beams ne'er shone upon.
If angry Fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear.
For while life's dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart;
And she-as fairest is her form,
She has the truest, kindest heart.
THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY.
This is written in the measure of an old Scottish song of the same name, from which Burns has borrowed nothing but the chorus. He composed it while standing under the Falls of Aberfeldy, near Moness.
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go-
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks' of Aberfeldy?
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays,
Come let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
While o'er their heads the hazels hing,'
The little birdies blythely sing,
Or lightly flit on wanton wing,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
The braes' ascend like lofty wa's,
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns3 the burnie pours,
And, rising, weets' wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
Let Fortune's gifts at random filee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
În the birks of Aberfeldy,
Bonnie lassie, &c.
O LET ME IN THIS AES NIGHT.
You have displayed great address in your song, 'Let me in this ae night.' Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song as it now stands very much.” Thomson to Burns.
O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou waukin', I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and fit,"
For I would fain be in, jo."
O let me in this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night,
For pity's sake, this ae night,
O'rise and let me in, jo.
-2 Slope of a hill.-3 A precipice. - Wets.-5 One.-6 FootSweetheart
Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet,'
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet;
Take pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo,
O let me in, &c.
The bitter blast that round me blaws
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.
O let me in, &c.
O TELL na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain!
Gae back the gate2 ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo.
I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And, ance for a', this ae night,
I winna let you in, jo.
The snellest blast at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wanderer pours,
Is nocht' to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.
I tell you now, &c.
The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.
I tell you now, &c.
The bird that charm'd his summer-day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.
I tell you now, &c.
1 Bain.-2 Way.-3 Bitterest.-4 Darkest.-5 Naught.- Fate
ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.
Written for Thomson's Collection in May, 1795. "Caledonia," "O whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad," "This is no my ain house," &c., were also productions of this period.
TUNE-Where'll bonnie Annie lie, or Loch-Erroch side.
O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,
Thy soothing fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art;
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.
Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.
Thou tells o' never-ending care;
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken!
This song was written on Miss Jenny Cruickshanks, only child of William Cruickshanks, of the High-school, Edinburgh,
TUNE-The Shepherd's Wife.
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
A-down a corn-inclosed bawk,'
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
1 A narrow footpath across a field.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray,
That watch'd thy early morning.
O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.
Burns wrote this song when he was about seventeen years of age.
TUNE-Invercauld's Reel.
O Tibbie, I hae seen the day
Ye wad na been sae shy;
For laik o' gear ye lightly me,
But, troth, I care na by.
YESTREEN I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;'
Ye gecks at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.
O Tibbie, &c.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,"
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
O Tibbie, &c.
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch" o' coin were clean,
Wha follows onie saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, &c.
Lack-2 Dust in motion.-3 Toss the head in scorn.- A petty oath of negation.-5 Cash.- Pocket.
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