Her head upon my throbbing breast,
She, sinking, said "I'm thine for ever!"
While monie a kiss the seal imprest,
The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.
The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae;
The simmer joys the flocks to follow ;
How cheery, thro' her shortening day,
Is autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure,
Or, thro' each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?
HAD I A CAVE.
TUNE-"ROBIN ADAIR."
HAD I a cave on some wild, distant shore,
Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,
There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,
Ne'er to wake more.
Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare
All thy fond plighted vows-fleeting as air?
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury,
Then in thy bosom try,
What peace is there!
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.
O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And comena unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye werena comin to me.
And come, &c.
At Kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'dňa a flie:
HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE.
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye werena lookin at me.
Yet look, &c.
Aye vow and protest that ye carena for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But courtna anither, tho' jokin ye be,
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me.
For fear, &c.
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.
HUSBAND, HUSBAND, CEASE YOUR STRIFE.
"HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir;
Tho' I am your wedded wife,
Yet I am not your slave, sir.”
“One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;
Is it man, or woman, say,
My spouse, Nancy ?"
"If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sov'reign lord,
And so, good-bye, allegiance!"
"Sad will I be, so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy!
Yet I'll try to make a shift,
My spouse, Nancy."
"My poor heart then break it must,
My last hour I'm near it :
When you lay me in the dust,
Think, think how you will bear it.”
"I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy;
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse, Nancy."
TUNE-"THE COLLIER'S DOCHTER."
DELUDED Swain, the pleasure,
The fickle Fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure,
Thy hopes will soon deceive thee.
The billows on the ocean,
The breezes idly roamin',
The clouds' uncertain motion,-
They are but types of woman.
O! art thou not ashamed
To doat upon a feature?
If man thou wouldst be named,
Despise the silly creature.
Go, find an honest fellow;
Good claret set before thee: Hold on till thou art mellow, And then to bed in glory.
Take away these rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure!
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure!
What is life when wanting love?
Night without a morning!
Love's the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.
WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE P1
TUNE "THE SUTOR'S DOCHTER.'
WILT thou be my dearie ?
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart,
Wilt thou let me cheer thee?
By the treasure of my soul,
That's the love I bear thee!
I swear and vow that only thou
Shalt ever be my dearie-
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shalt ever be my dearie.
Lassie, say thou lo’es me;
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain,
Say na thou'lt refuse me:
If it winna, canna be,
Thou for thine may choose me,
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo❜es me-
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo’es me.
HERE IS THE GLEN.2
TUNE-" BANKS OF CREE."
HERE is the glen, and here the bower,
All underneath the birchen shade;
The village-bell has toll'd the hour,
O what can stay my lovely maid?
1 Burns considered this to be one of his best songs.
2 I got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of Heron, which she calls "The Banks of the Cree." Cree is a beautiful romantic stream; and as her ladyship is a particular friend of mine, I have written this song to it.-R. B.
'Tis not Maria's whispering call;
"Tis but the balmy-breathing gale,
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall,
The dewy star of eve to hail.
It is Maria's voice I hear!
So calls the woodlark in the grove
His little faithful mate to cheer,—
At once 'tis music-and 'tis love.
And art thou come ? and art thou true?
O welcome, dear to love and me!
And let us all our vows renew,
Along the flow'ry banks of Cree.
ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY.1
TUNE-" O'ER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY."
How can my poor heart be glad,
When absent from my Sailor lad?
How can I the thought forego,
He's on the seas to meet the foe?
Let me wander, let me rove,
Still my heart is with my
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are with him that's far away,
On the seas and far away,
On stormy seas and far away;
Nightly dreams and thoughts by day
Are aye with him that's far away.
When in summer's noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in this scorching sun
My Sailor's thund'ring at his gun :
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy!
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that's far away!
At the starless midnight hour,
When winter rules with boundless power;
1 Burns was at first pleased with these verses, but he afterwards thought them unequal and "flimsy." And his second thoughts were the best.
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