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Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair-
And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet !
If Colin's weel, and weel content,

I hae nae mair to crave :
And gin I live to keep him sae,

I'm blest aboon the lave :
And will I see his face again,

And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.

W. J. Mickle

CXCV

ABSENCE

When I think on the happy days

I spent wi' you, my dearie ;
And now what lands between us lie,

How can I be but eerie !

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,

As ye were wae and weary ! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie.

Anon,

CXCVI

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

Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair :
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air :
There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings

But minds me o' my Jean.
O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft

Amang the leafy trees;
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale

Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me

That's aye sae neat and clean ; Ae smile o' her wad banish care,

Sae charming is my Jean.
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 !

R. Burns

CXCVII

JOHN ANDERSON

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent ;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither :
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

R. Burns

go,

CXCVIII

THE LAND OTHE LEAL

I'm wearing awa', Jean,
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.
Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,
And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean,
She was baith guid and fair, Jean ;
O we grudged her right sair

To the land o' the leal !
Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait on me

To the land o' the leal.
Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet and aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.

Lady Nairn

CXCIX

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF

ETON COLLEGE

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers

That crown the watery glade, Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's holy shade ;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way:
Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade!

Ah fields beloved in vain !
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green

The paths of pleasure trace ;
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed

Or urge the flying ball ?
While some on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty :
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign
And unknown regions dare descry :
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast :
Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light

That fly th' approach of morn.
Alas! regardless of their doom

The little victims play ;
No sense have they of ills to come

Nor care beyond to-day :
Yet see how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate
And black Misfortune's baleful train !
Ah show them where in ambush stand
To seize their prey, the murderous band

Ah, tell them they are men !

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