Poems, Songs, and Letters

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE.

Her body is bestowed well,

A handsome grave does hide her; But sure her soul is not in hell,

The deil would ne'er abide her. I rather think she is aloft,

And imitating thunder; For why, methinks I hear her voice Tearing the clouds asunder.

THENIEL MENZIE'S BONIE
MARY.

TUNE- The Ruffian's rant.'

IN coming by the brig o' Dye,
At Darlet we a blink did tarry;
As day was dawin in the sky
We drank a health to bonie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary,

Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary;
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,

Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary.

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white,
Her haffet locks as brown's a berry,
An' ay they dimpled wi' a smile
The rosy cheeks o' bonie Mary.
Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary,
Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary;
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,

Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary. We lap an' danced the lee-lang day, Till piper lads were wae an' weary, But Charlie gat the spring to pay For kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary.

Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary,
Theniel Menzie's bonie Mary;
Charlie Gregor tint his plaidie,
Kissin' Theniel's bonie Mary.

THE FAREWELL. TUNE-It was a' for our rightful' King' IT was a' for our rightfu' King,

We left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear; We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain ; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear;

For I maun cross the main.

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But what was said, or what was done,
Shame fa' me gin I tell ;
But oh! I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel.

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids, To the weavers gin ye go;

I rede you right gang ne'er at night, To the weavers gin ye go.

LOVELY DAVIES.

TUNE - Miss Muir.

O HOW shall I, unskilfu', try
The poet's occupation,
The tunefu' powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration?
Even they maun dare an effort mair,
Than aught they ever gave us,
Or they rehearse, in equal verse,
The charms o' lovely Davies.

Each eye it cheers, when she appears,

Like Phoebus in the morning,
When past the shower, and ev'ry flower
The garden is adorning.

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
When winter-bound the wave is;
Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming lovely Davies.

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift,
That maks us mair than princes;
A scepter'd hand, a King's command,
Is in her darting glances:
The man in arms, 'gainst female charms,
Even he her willing slave is;
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign
Of conquering, lovely Davies.

My Muse to dream of such a theme,

Her feeble powers surrender; The eagle's gaze alone surveys The sun's meridian splendour: I wad in vain essay the strain,

The deed too daring brave is; I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire The charms o' lovely Davies.

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA.
TUNE O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie.
O KENMURE's on and awa, Willie !
O Kenmure's on and awa!
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie !
Success to Kenmure's band;
There's no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure's hand.
Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie !
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's
Nor yet o' Gordon's line. [blucie,

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie !
O Kenmure's lads are men ;
Their hearts and swords are metal true-
And that their faes shall ken.
They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie !
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But soon, wi' sounding victorie,

May Kenmure's lord come hame.
Here's him that's far awa, Willie !
Here's him that's far awa;
And here's the flower that I love best-
The rose that's like the snaw !

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. TUNE-'O mount and go.'

CHORUS.

O mount and go,
Mount and make you ready;
O mount and go,

And be the Captain's Lady. WHEN the drums do beat,

And the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state,
And see thy love in battle.
When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.

O mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;

O mount and go,

And be the Captain's Lady.

260

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.

LADY MARY ANN.
TUNE- Cragtown's growing.'
O, Lady Mary Ann

Looks o'er the castle wa',
She saw three bonie boys
Playing at the ba';
The youngest he was

The flower amang them a';
My bonie laddie's young,
But he's growin' yet.

O father! O father!
An' ye think it fit,
We'll send him a year
To the college yet:
We'll sew a green ribbon
Round about his hat,
And that will let them ken
He's to marry yet.

Lady Mary Ann

Was a flower i' the dew,
Sweet was its smell,

And bonie was its hue!
And the langer it blossom'd
The sweeter it grew;
For the lily in the bud
Will be bonier yet.
Young Charlie Cochran

Was the sprout of an aik; Bonie and bloomin'

And straught was its make: The sun took delight

To shine for its sake,

And it will be the brag

O' the forest yet.

The simmer is gane

When the leaves they were green,

And the days are awa

That we hae seen :

But far better days

I trust will come again,

For my bonie laddie's young,

But he's growin' yet.

THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S
LAMENT.

OH! I am come to the low countrie,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.

It was nae sae in the Highland hills,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me.

For then I had a score o' kye,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high,
And giving milk to me.

And there I had three score o' yowes,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!
Skipping on yon bonie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

I was the happiest of the clan,
Sair, sair may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest lad,
And Donald he was mine.

Till Charlie Stewart cam at last,
Sae far to set us free;

My Donald's arm was wanted then,
For Scotland and for me.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell,
Right to the wrang did yield:
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden's field.

Oh! I am come to the low countrie,
Och-on, och-on, och-rie!

Nae woman in the world wide
Sae wretched now as me.

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.
TUNE-'Lord Breadalbane's March.

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle,
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;

O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle,

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.

O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET.

O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,
An' a' the lang night as happy's a King.
Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins,

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave:
Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her linnens,
And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave.
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,
An' come to my arms, and kiss me again!
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!
And bless'd be the day I did it again.

RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.

TUNE- Rattlin, roarin' Willie.'

O RATTLIN', roarin' Willie,
O, he held to the fair,
An' for to sell his fiddle,
An' buy some other ware;
But parting wi' his fiddle,

The saut tear blin't his ee;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!

O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
O sell your fiddle sae fine;

O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
And buy a pint o' wine!

If I should sell my fiddle,

261

The warl' would think I was mad;

For mony a rantin' day

My fiddle and I hae had.

As I cam by Crochallan,
I cannily keekit ben-
Rattlin', roarin' Willie

Was sitting at yon board en',
Sitting at yon board en',

And amang guid companie ;
Rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!

O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET.
O MALLY'S meek, Mally's sweet,
Mally's modest and discreet,

Mally's rare, Mally's fair,

Mally's every way complete.

As I was walking up the street,

A barefit maid I chanced to meet;

But O the road was very hard

For that fair maiden's tender feet.

It were mair meet that those fine feet
Were weel laced up in silken shoon,
And 'twere more fit that she should sit
Within yon chariot gilt aboon.

Her yellow hair, beyond compare,

Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck,

And her two eyes, like stars in skies,

Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck.

O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,

Mally's modest and discreet,

Mally's rare, Mally's fair,

Mally's every way complete.

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Poems, Songs, and Letters: Being the Complete Works of Robert Burns, Edited ...