Luve for luve is the bargain for me, Though the wee cot-house should haud me; AS I WAS A-WAND'RING. [An ancient Gaelic song having been literally And the warld before me to win my translated for Burns by a lady of Inverness-shire, bread, And fair fa' my Collier Laddie the Poet adapted its meaning thus rhythmically to the old Highland melody, the title of which, done into English, signifies, "My love deceived And the warld before me to win my me."] bread, And fair fa' my Collier Laddie! NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. [The subjoined was written as a poetical greeting to the Lady Winifred Maxwell, on her returning to Scotland and rebuilding the old family seat, the ruined castle of Terreagles, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, she being the last surviving descendant from the forfeited Earl of Nithsdale. It was Lady Winifred who presented to Burns the snuff-box he ever afterwards so highly prized, on the lid of which was a miniature, said to be an authentic original (that is, painted from the life) of Mary Queen of Scots.] THE noble Maxwells and their powers Are coming o'er the border, And they'll gae big Terreagle's towers, An' set them a' in order. And they declare Terreagle 's fair, For their abode they choose it; There's no a heart in a' the land But 's lighter at the news o' it. Though stars in skies may disappear, And angry tempests gather, The happy hour may soon be near That brings us pleasant weather: The weary night o' care and grief May ha'e a joyfu' morrow; So dawning day has brought reliefFarewell our night o' sorrow! Tune-"Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh,"-a Gaelic air. As I was a-wand'ring ae midsummer e'enin', The pipers and youngsters were makin' their game; Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ! I may be distressed, but I winna complain; I'll flatter my fancy I may get anither, My heart it shall never be broken for ane. I couldna get sleepin' till dawin for greetin'; The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain: Had I na got greetin', my heart wad a broken, For, oh luve forsaken 's a tormenting pain ! Weel, since he has left me, &c. Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna envy him the gains he can win; I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow, Than ever ha'e acted sae faithless to him. Weel, since he has left me, may Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, I may be distressed, but I winna O, wha wad leave this humble state anither,- Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, for ane. BESS AND HIER SPINNING WHEEL. [This is a song of rustic toil and rural scenery that sets itself to its own music.] Tune "The sweet lass that lo'es me." On ilka hand the burnies trot, On lofty aiks the cushats wail, THE POSIE. [The notion of this delicious ditty was caught up by Burns from hearing his darling Jean sing to herself at times the old, old ballad, famous, time out of mind, all over the three kingdoms, "Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" The dear, sparkling posie here gathered is full of the daintiest anachronisms-primrose, woodbine, hawthorn, and lily blooming contemporaneously in the same nosegay.] Tune-"There was a pretty May, and a-milkin' she went." O, LUVE will venture in where it daurna weel be seen, O, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; But I will down yon river rove, amang And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and And a' to be a posie to my ain dear I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phœbus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'; The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its un changing blue; COUNTRY LASSIE. [The following stanzas were published originally in Johnson's Museum.] And a' to be a posie to my ain dear IN simmer, when the hay was mawn, May. ing star is near, And corn waved green in ilka field, Says, "I'll be wed, come o't what Out spak' a dame, in wrinkled eild,— "O' guid advisement comes nae ill. "It's ye ha'e wooers mony ane, And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken; "For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen The woodbine I will pu' when the e'en- He lo’es sae weel his craps and kye, He has nae luve to spare for me: And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be But blithe 's the blink o' Robie's e'e, And weel I wat he lo'es me dear; her een sae clear; The violet's for modesty, which weel Ae blink o' him I wad na gi'e she fa's to wear; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear For Buskie-glen and a' his gear." "O, thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught; The canniest gate, the strife is sair; I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken But aye fu' han't is fechtin' best, band o' luve, A hungry care's an unco care: And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll But some will spend, and some will "O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye; But the tender heart o' leesome luve, The gowd and siller canna buy. We may be poor-Robie and I; Light is the burden luve lays on; YE JACOBITES BY NAME. [The original manuscript of this song passed into the hands of David Dunbar of Dumfries.] Tune-"Ye Jacobites by name." Content and luve bring peace and joy, YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give What mair ha'e queens upon a throne?" FAIR ELIZA. [Robina stood originally on Burns's manuscript an ear; Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear; Ye Jacobites by name, Your fautes I will proclaim, Your doctrines I maun blame- of this lovely song, instead of Eliza-Robina What is right, and what is wrang, by the YE BANKS AND BRAES O' DOON. [The subjoined is as renowned and popular as any of the glorious songs of Burns. Its lovely air was composed by James Miller, an amateur musician of Edinburgh, who was aided in the harmonizing of the accompaniment by Stephen Clarke the organist. Peggy Kennedy of Dalgarrock who is here supposed to give utterance to her lamentations, was, at seventeen years of age, cruelly deceived by her "fause lover," McDouall of Logan, according to the account given of her and her deceiver by Allan Cunningham. She was the daughter and heiress of a considerable landed proprietor in Carrick, and was the niece of a baronet. Ruined in reputation, and basely deserted, she died prematurely of that most wasting malady, the diagnosis of which is alone to be defined by its title, a broken heart.] Tune-"Caledonian Hunt's Delight." YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care? Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons through the flowering thorn; Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed-never to return! Aft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; And my fause lover stole my rose, But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me. -0 SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. [It is consoling to believe that the wife of Willie Wastle was a creature born alone of Burns's imagination, and not, as some have supposed, the spare rib (that, if really in the flesh, might well have been spared) of some unnamed farmer near Ellisland.] Tune-" The eight men of Moidart." WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed, The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie; Willie was a wabster guid, Could stown a clue wi' ony body: O, Tinkler Madgie was her mither; I wad na gi'e a button for her. The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin' beard about her mou', Her nose and chin they threaten ither Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gi'e a button for her. She's bow-houghed, she 's hein-shinned; Ae limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter; She's twisted right, she 's twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter: The twin o' that upon her shouther- I wad na gi'e a button for her. An' wi' her loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels; Her face wad fyle the Logan-Water: Sic a wife as Willie had, I wad na gi'e a button for her. |