IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE, ETC.
The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;
I think on him that's far awa',
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,-
The lee-lang night, and weep.
IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.
TUNE "THE MAID'S COMPLAINT."
IT is na, Jean, thy bonnie face
Nor shape that I admire,
Although thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awake desire.
Something, in ilka part o' thee,
To praise, to love, I find;
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.
Nae mair ungen'rous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than if I canna mak thee sae,
At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if Heaven shall give
But happiness to thee:
And as withee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.
JAMIE, COME TRY ME.
TUNE "JAMIE, COME TRY ME."
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me;
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.
If thou should ask my love,
Could I deny thee?
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.
If thou should kiss me, love,
Wha could espy thee?
If thou wad be my love,
Jamie, come try me.
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me ;
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.
LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN.
TUNE "HEY TUTTI, TAITI.”
LANDLADY, Count the lawin,'
The day is near the dawin;
Ye're a' blind drunk, boys,
And I'm but jolly fou.
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-
Wha's fou now?
Cog an' ye were aye fou,
Cog an' ye were aye fou,
I wad sit and sing to you,
If ye were aye fou.
Weel may ye a' be!
Ill may we never see!
God bless the King, boys,
And the companie!
Hey tutti, taiti,
How tutti, taiti-
Wha's fou now?
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.'
TUNE-" LADY BADINGSCOTH'S REEL."
My love she's but a lassie yet;
My love she's but a lassie yet;
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, O;
I rue the day I sought her, O;
Wha gets her needs na say she's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought her, O!
Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will,
But here I never miss'd it yet.
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife,
An' could na preach for thinkin' o't.
TUNE-" TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO."
My heart was ance as blythe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart2 me change my sang.
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.
My mither sent me to the town,
To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.
A bonnie westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.3
1 This song and the following one were only partly written by Burns.
* Thread remaining at the end of a web.
I sat beside my warpin wheel,
And aye I ca'd it roun';
But every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.
The moon was sinking in the west,
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.
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 rede1 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 sceptr❜d hand, a King's command,
Is in her darting glances:
2 Deborah Davies, the youngest daughter of Dr. Davies, of Tenby, South Wales. She was the victim of an unrequited attachment for an officer who died abroad. In a letter to this lady, Burns calls woman " the blood-roya of life."
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 surrenders;
The eagle's gaze alone surveys
The sun's meridian splendours:
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 blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.
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 lo'e best-
The rose that's like the snaw.
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