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Part XXVIIPart XXVII
Part XXVII
M`Pherson`s Farewell
tune-"M`Pherson`s Rant."
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch`s destinie!
M`Pherson`s time will not be long
On yonder gallows-tree.
Chorus.-Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He play`d a spring, and danc`d it round,
Below the gallows-tree.
O, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I`ve dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
Sae rantingly, &c.
Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring me to my sword;
And there`s no a man in all Scotland
But I`ll brave him at a word.
Sae rantingly, &c.
I`ve liv`d a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie:
It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avenged be.
Sae rantingly, &c.
Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.
Stay My Charmer
tune-"An gille dubh ciar-dhubh."
Stay my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel to deceive me;
Well you know how much you grieve me;
Cruel charmer, can you go!
Cruel charmer, can you go!
By my love so ill-requited,
By the faith you fondly plighted,
By the pangs of lovers slighted,
Do not, do not liave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!
song-My Hoggie
What will I do gin my Hoggie die?
My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
My only beast, I had nae mae,
And vow but I was vogie!
The lee-lang night we watch`d the fauld,
Me and my faithfu` doggie;
We heard nocht but the roaring linn,
Amang the braes sae scroggie.
But the houlet cry`d frau the castle wa`,
The blitter frae the boggie;
The tod reply`d upon the hill,
I trembled for my Hoggie.
When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
The morning it was foggie;
An unco tyke, lap o`er the dyke,
And maist has kill`d my Hoggie!
Raving Winds Around Her Blowing
tune-"M`Grigor of Roro`s Lament."
I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M`Leod of Raza, alluding to her
feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of
her sister`s husband, the late Earl of Loudoun, who shot himself out of sheer
heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state
of his finances.-R.B., 1971.
Raving winds around her blowing,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella stray`d deploring-
"Farewell, hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow!
"O`er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
"Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Load to misery most distressing,
Gladly how wouldlI resign thee,
And to dark oblivion join thee!"
Up In The Morning Early
Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud and shill`s I hear the blast-
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
Chorus.-Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the morning early;
When a` the hills are covered wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A` day they fare but sparely;
And lang`s the night frae e`en to morn-
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.
Up in the morning`s, &c.
How Long And Dreary Is The Night
How long and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie!
I sleepless lie frae e`en to morn,
Tho` I were ne`er so weary:
I sleepless lie frae e`en to morn,
Tho` I were ne`er sae weary!
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!
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 wasna sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi` my dearie!
It wasna sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi` my dearie!
Hey, The Dusty Miller
Hey, the dusty Miller,
And his dusty coat,
He will win a shilling,
Or he spend a groat:
Dusty was the coat,
Dusty was the colour,
Dusty was the kiss
That I gat frae the Miller.
Hey, the dusty Miller,
And his dusty sack;
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck:
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller;
I wad gie my coatie
For the dusty Miller.
Duncan Davison
There was a lass, they ca`d her Meg,
And she held o`er the moors to spin;
There was a lad that follow`d her,
They ca`d him Duncan Davison.
The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh,
Her favour Duncan could na win;
For wi` the rock she wad him knock,
And aye she shook the temper-pin.
As o`er the moor they lightly foor,
A burn was clear, a glen was green,
Upon the banks they eas`d their shanks,
And aye she set the wheel between:
But Duncan swoor a haly aith,
That Meg should be a bride the morn;
Then Meg took up her spinning-graith,
And flang them a` out o`er the burn.
We will big a wee, wee house,
And we will live like king and queen;
Sae blythe and merry`s we will be,
When ye set by the wheel at e`en.
A man may drink, and no be drunk;
A man may fight, and no be slain;
A man may kiss a bonie lass,
And aye be welcome back again!
The Lad They Ca`Jumpin John
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
Forbidden she wadna be:
She wadna trow`t the browst she brew`d,
Wad taste sae bitterlie.
Chorus.-The lang lad they ca`Jumpin John
Beguil`d the bonie lassie,
The lang lad they ca`Jumpin John
Beguil`d the bonie lassie.
A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf,
And thretty gude shillin`s and three;
A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man`s dochter,
The lass wi` the bonie black e`e.
The lang lad, &c.
Talk Of Him That`s Far Awa
Musing on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying heav`n in warm devotion,
For his weal where`er he be.
Hope and Fear`s alternate billow
Yielding late to Nature`s law,
Whispering spirits round my pillow,
Talk of him that`s far awa.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that`s far awa!
To Daunton Me
The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.
Refrain.-To daunton me, to daunton me,
And auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi` his fause heart and flatt`ring tongue,
That is the thing you shall never see,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, &c.
For a` his meal and a` his maut,
For a` his fresh beef and his saut,
For a` his gold and white monie,
And auld men shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, &c.
His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, &c.
He hirples twa fauld as he dow,
Wi` his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,
And the rain rains down frae his red blear`d e`e;
That auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, &c.
The Winter It Is Past
The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last
And the small birds, they sing on ev`ry tree;
Now ev`ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.
The Bonie Lad That`s Far Awa
O how can I be blythe and glad,
Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
When the bonie lad that I lo`e best
Is o`er the hills and far awa!
It`s no the frosty winter wind,
It`s no the driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my e`e,
To think on him that`s far awa.
My father pat me frae his door,
My friends they hae disown`d me a`;
But I hae ane will tak my part,
The bonie lad that`s far awa.
A pair o` glooves he bought to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonie lad that`s far awa.
O weary Winter soon will pass,
And Spring will cleed the birken shaw;
And my young babie will be born,
And he`ll be hame that`s far awa.
Verses To Clarinda
Sent with a Pair of Wine-Glasses.
Fair Empress of the Poet`s soul,
And Queen of Poetesses;
Clarinda, take this little boon,
This humble pair of glasses:
And fill them up with generous juice,
As generous as your mind;
And pledge them to the generous toast,
"The whole of human kind!"
"To those who love us!" second fill;
But not to those whom we love;
Lest we love those who love not us-
A third-"To thee and me, Love!"
The Chevalier`s Lament
Air-"Captain O`Kean."
The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro` the vale;
The primroses blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild scatter`d cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,
When the lingering moments are numbered by care?
No birds sweetly singing, nor flow`rs gaily springing,
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice?
A king and a father to place on his throne!
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, tho` I can find none!
But `tis not my suff`rings, thus wretched, forlorn,
My brave gallant friends, `tis your ruin I mourn;
Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, -
Alas! I can make it no better return!
Epistle To Hugh Parker
In this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne`er cross`t the Muse`s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:
A land that Prose did never view it,
Except when drunk he stacher`t thro` it;
Here, ambush`d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
I hear a wheel thrum i` the neuk,
I hear it-for in vain I leuk.
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhusked by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;
For life and spunk like ither Christians,
I`m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi` nae converse but Gallowa` bodies,
Wi` nae kenn`d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
Dowie she saunters down Nithside,
And aye a westlin leuk she throws,
While tears hap o`er her auld brown nose!
Was it for this, wi` cannie care,
Thou bure the Bard through many a shire?
At howes, or hillocks never stumbled,
And late or early never grumbled?-
O had I power like inclination,
I`d heeze thee up a constellation,
To canter with the Sagitarre,
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar;
Or turn the pole like any arrow;
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow,
Down the zodiac urge the race,
And cast dirt on his godship`s face;
For I could lay my bread and kail
He`d ne`er cast saut upo` thy tail. -
Wi` a` this care and a` this grief,
And sma`, sma` prospect of relief,
And nought but peat reek i` my head,
How can I write what ye can read?-
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o` June,
Ye`ll find me in a better tune;
But till we meet and weet our whistle,
Tak this excuse for nae epistle.
Robert Burns.
Of A` The Airts The Wind Can Blaw^1
tune-"Miss Admiral Gordon`s Strathspey."
Of a` the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo`e best:
[Footnote 1: Written during a separation from Mrs. Burns in their honeymoon.
Burns was preparing a home at Ellisland; Mrs. Burns was at Mossgiel.-Lang.]
There`s wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between:
But day and night my fancys` 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 bonie flower that springs,
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There`s not a bonie bird that sings,
But minds me o` my Jean.
song-I Hae a Wife O` My Ain
I Hae a wife of my ain,
I`ll partake wi` naebody;
I`ll take Cuckold frae nane,
I`ll gie Cuckold to naebody.
I hae a penny to spend,
There-thanks to naebody!
I hae naething to lend,
I`ll borrow frae naebody.
I am naebody`s lord,
I`ll be slave to naebody;
I hae a gude braid sword,
I`ll tak dunts frae naebody.
I`ll be merry and free,
I`ll be sad for naebody;
Naebody cares for me,
I care for naebody.
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