Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

by Robert Burns

with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung

  under the name of-"Chloris."^1

  'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend,

  Nor thou the gift refuse,

  Nor with unwilling ear attend

  The moralising Muse.

  Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,

  Must bid the world adieu,

  (A world 'gainst Peace in constant arms)

  To join the Friendly Few.

  Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,

  Chill came the tempest's lour;

  (And ne'er Misfortune's eastern blast

  Did nip a fairer flower.)

  Since life's gay scenes must charm no more,

  Still much is left behind,

  Still nobler wealth hast thou in store-

  The comforts of the mind!

  Thine is the self-approving glow,

  Of conscious Honour's part;

  And (dearest gift of Heaven below)

  Thine Friendship's truest heart.

  The joys refin'd of Sense and Taste,

  With every Muse to rove:

  And doubly were the Poet blest,

  These joys could he improve.

  R.B.

  [Footnote 1: Miss Lorimer.]

  Fragment.-Leezie Lindsay

  Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,

  Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me?

  Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,

  My pride and my darling to be.

  Fragment.-The Wren's Nest

  The Robin to the Wren's nest

  Cam keekin' in, cam keekin' in;

  O weel's me on your auld pow,

  Wad ye be in, wad ye be in?

  Thou's ne'er get leave to lie without,

  And I within, and I within,

  Sae lang's I hae an auld clout

  To rowe ye in, to rowe ye in.

  News, Lassies, News

  There's news, lassies, news,

  Gude news I've to tell!

  There's a boatfu' o' lads

  Come to our town to sell.

  Chorus-The wean wants a cradle,

  And the cradle wants a cod:

  I'll no gang to my bed,

  Until I get a nod.

  Father, quo' she, Mither, quo she,

  Do what you can,

  I'll no gang to my bed,

  Until I get a man.

  The wean, &c.

  I hae as gude a craft rig

  As made o'yird and stane;

  And waly fa' the ley-crap,

  For I maun till'd again.

  The wean, &c.

  Crowdie Ever Mair

  O that I had ne'er been married,

  I wad never had nae care,

  Now I've gotten wife an' weans,

  An' they cry "Crowdie" evermair.

  Chorus-Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,

  Three times crowdie in a day

  Gin ye crowdie ony mair,

  Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.

  Waefu' Want and Hunger fley me,

  Glowrin' by the hallan en';

  Sair I fecht them at the door,

  But aye I'm eerie they come ben.

  Ance crowdie, &c.

  Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet

  Chorus-Mally's meek, Mally's sweet,

  Mally's modest and discreet;

  Mally's rare, Mally's fair,

  Mally's every way complete.

  As I was walking up the street,

  A barefit maid I chanc'd to meet;

  But O the road was very hard

  For that fair maiden's tender feet.

  Mally's meek, &c.

  It were mair meet that those fine feet

  Were weel laced up in silken shoon;

  An' 'twere more fit that she should sit

  Within yon chariot gilt aboon,

  Mally's meek, &c.

  Her yellow hair, beyond compare,

  Comes trinklin down her swan-like neck,

  And her two eyes, like stars in skies,

  Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck,

  Mally's meek, &c.

  Jockey's Taen The Parting Kiss

  Air-"Bonie lass tak a man."

  Jockey's taen the parting kiss,

  O'er the mountains he is gane,

  And with him is a' my bliss,

  Nought but griefs with me remain,

  Spare my Love, ye winds that blaw,

  Plashy sleets and beating rain!

  Spare my Love, thou feath'ry snaw,

  Drifting o'er the frozen plain!

  When the shades of evening creep

  O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e,

  Sound and safely may he sleep,

  Sweetly blythe his waukening be.

  He will think on her he loves,

  Fondly he'll repeat her name;

  For where'er he distant roves,

  Jockey's heart is still the same.

  Verses To Collector Mitchell

  Friend of the Poet, tried and leal,

  Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal;

  Alake, alake, the meikle deil

  Wi' a' his witches

  Are at it skelpin jig and reel,

  In my poor pouches?

  I modestly fu' fain wad hint it,

  That One-pound-one, I sairly want it;

  If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it,

  It would be kind;

  And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted,

  I'd bear't in mind.

  So may the Auld year gang out moanin'

  To see the New come laden, groanin',

  Wi' double plenty o'er the loanin',

  To thee and thine:

  Domestic peace and comforts crownin'

  The hale design.

  Postscript

  Ye've heard this while how I've been lickit,

  And by fell Death was nearly nickit;

  Grim loon! he got me by the fecket,

  And sair me sheuk;

  But by gude luck I lap a wicket,

  And turn'd a neuk.

  But by that health, I've got a share o't,

  But by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't,

  My hale and wee, I'll tak a care o't,

  A tentier way;

  Then farewell folly, hide and hair o't,

  For ance and aye!

  The Dean Of Faculty

  A New Ballad

  tune-"The Dragon of Wantley."

  Dire was the hate at old Harlaw,

  That Scot to Scot did carry;

  And dire the discord Langside saw

  For beauteous, hapless Mary:

  But Scot to Scot ne'er met so hot,

  Or were more in fury seen, Sir,

  Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job,

  Who should be the Faculty's Dean, Sir.

  This Hal for genius, wit and lore,

  Among the first was number'd;

  But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store,

  Commandment the tenth remember'd:

  Yet simple Bob the victory got,

  And wan his heart's desire,

  Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,

  Tho' the devil piss in the fire.

  Squire Hal, besides, had in this case

  Pretensions rather brassy;

  For talents, to deserve a place,

  Are qualifications saucy.

  So their worships of the Faculty,

  Quite sick of merit's rudeness,

  Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,

  To their gratis grace and goodness.

  As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight

  Of a son of Circumcision,

  So may be, on this Pisgah height,

  Bob's purblind mental vision-

  Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet,

  Till for eloquence you hail him,

  And swear that he has the angel met

  That met the ass of Balaam.

  In your heretic sins may you
live and die,

  Ye heretic Eight-and-Tairty!

  But accept, ye sublime Majority,

  My congratulations hearty.

  With your honours, as with a certain king,

  In your servants this is striking,

  The more incapacity they bring,

  The more they're to your liking.

  Epistle To Colonel De Peyster

  My honor'd Colonel, deep I feel

  Your interest in the Poet's weal;

  Ah! now sma' heart hae I to speel

  The steep Parnassus,

  Surrounded thus by bolus pill,

  And potion glasses.

  O what a canty world were it,

  Would pain and care and sickness spare it;

  And Fortune favour worth and merit

  As they deserve;

  And aye rowth o' roast-beef and claret,

  Syne, wha wad starve?

  Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her,

  And in paste gems and frippery deck her;

  Oh! flickering, feeble, and unsicker

  I've found her still,

  Aye wavering like the willow-wicker,

  'Tween good and ill.

  Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan,

  Watches like baudrons by a ratton

  Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on,

  Wi'felon ire;

  Syne, whip! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on,

  He's aff like fire.

  Ah Nick! ah Nick! it is na fair,

  First showing us the tempting ware,

  Bright wines, and bonie lasses rare,

  To put us daft

  Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare

  O hell's damned waft.

  Poor Man, the flie, aft bizzes by,

  And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh,

  Thy damn'd auld elbow yeuks wi'joy

  And hellish pleasure!

  Already in thy fancy's eye,

  Thy sicker treasure.

  Soon, heels o'er gowdie, in he gangs,

  And, like a sheep-head on a tangs,

  Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs,

  And murdering wrestle,

  As, dangling in the wind, he hangs,

  A gibbet's tassel.

  But lest you think I am uncivil

  To plague you with this draunting drivel,

  Abjuring a' intentions evil,

  I quat my pen,

  The Lord preserve us frae the devil!

  Amen! Amen!

  A Lass Wi' A Tocher

  tune-"Ballinamona Ora."

  Awa' wi' your witchcraft o' Beauty's alarms,

  The slender bit Beauty you grasp in your arms,

  O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms,

  O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms.

  Chorus-Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher,

  Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher;

  Then hey, for a lass wi' a tocher;

  The nice yellow guineas for me.

  Your Beauty's a flower in the morning that blows,

  And withers the faster, the faster it grows:

  But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes,

  Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes.

  Then hey, for a lass, &c.

  And e'en when this Beauty your bosom hath blest

  The brightest o' Beauty may cloy when possess'd;

  But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie impress'd,

  The langer ye hae them, the mair they're carest.

  Then hey, for a lass, &c.

  Heron Election Ballad, No. IV.

  The Trogger.

  tune-"Buy Broom Besoms."

  Wha will buy my troggin, fine election ware,

  Broken trade o' Broughton, a' in high repair?

  Chorus-Buy braw troggin frae the banks o' Dee;

  Wha wants troggin let him come to me.

  There's a noble Earl's fame and high renown,

  For an auld sang-it's thought the gudes were stown-

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's the worth o' Broughton in a needle's e'e;

  Here's a reputation tint by Balmaghie.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's its stuff and lining, Cardoness' head,

  Fine for a soger, a' the wale o' lead.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's a little wadset, Buittle's scrap o' truth,

  Pawn'd in a gin-shop, quenching holy drouth.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's an honest conscience might a prince adorn;

  Frae the downs o' Tinwald, so was never worn.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's armorial bearings frae the manse o' Urr;

  The crest, a sour crab-apple, rotten at the core.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's the worth and wisdom Collieston can boast;

  By a thievish midge they had been nearly lost.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here is Satan's picture, like a bizzard gled,

  Pouncing poor Redcastle, sprawlin' like a taed.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here's the font where Douglas stane and mortar names;

  Lately used at Caily christening Murray's crimes.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Here is Murray's fragments o' the ten commands;

  Gifted by black Jock to get them aff his hands.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Saw ye e'er sic troggin? if to buy ye're slack,

  Hornie's turnin chapman - he'll buy a' the pack.

  Buy braw troggin, &c.

  Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars

  The Toast

  Fill me with the rosy wine,

  Call a toast, a toast divine:

  Giveth me Poet's darling flame,

  Lovely Jessie be her name;

  Then thou mayest freely boast,

  Thou hast given a peerless toast.

  The Menagerie

  Talk not to me of savages,

  From Afric's burning sun;

  No savage e'er could rend my heart,

  As Jessie, thou hast done:

  But Jessie's lovely hand in mine,

  A mutual faith to plight,

  Not even to view the heavenly choir,

  Would be so blest a sight.

  Jessie's illness

  Say, sages, what's the charm on earth

  Can turn Death's dart aside!

  It is not purity and worth,

  Else Jessie had not died.

  On Her Recovery

  But rarely seen since Nature's birth,

  The natives of the sky;

  Yet still one seraph's left on earth,

  For Jessie did not die.

  O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass

  Chorus-O lay thy loof in mine, lass,

  In mine, lass, in mine, lass;

  And swear on thy white hand, lass,

  That thou wilt be my ain.

  A slave to Love's unbounded sway,

  He aft has wrought me meikle wae;

  But now he is my deadly fae,

  Unless thou be my ain.

  O lay thy loof, &c.

  There's mony a lass has broke my rest,

  That for a blink I hae lo'ed best;

  But thou art Queen within my breast,

  For ever to remain.

  O lay thy loof, &c.

  A Health To Ane I Loe Dear

  Chorus-Here's a health to ane I loe dear,

  Here's a health to ane I loe dear;

  Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,

  And soft as their parting tear-Jessy.

  Altho' thou maun never be mine,

  Altho' even hope is denied;

  'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

  Than ought in the world beside-Jessy.

  Here's a health, &c.

  I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,

  As hopeless I muse on thy charms;

  But welcome the dream o' sw
eet slumber,

  For then I am lockt in thine arms-Jessy.

  Here's a health, &c.

  I guess by the dear angel smile,

  I guess by the love-rolling e'e;

  But why urge the tender confession,

  'Gainst Fortune's fell, cruel decree?-Jessy.

  Here's a health, &c.

  O Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast

  O wert thou in the cauld blast,

  On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

  My plaidie to the angry airt,

  I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee;

  Or did Misfortune's bitter storms

  Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,

  Thy bield should be my bosom,

  To share it a', to share it a'.

  Or were I in the wildest waste,

  Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,

  The desert were a Paradise,

  If thou wert there, if thou wert there;

  Or were I Monarch o' the globe,

  Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,

  The brightest jewel in my Crown

  Wad be my Queen, wad be my Queen.

  Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars

  On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum, in four volumes, presented to her by

  Burns. ^1

  Thine be the volumes, Jessy fair,

  And with them take the Poet's prayer,

  That Fate may, in her fairest page,

  With ev'ry kindliest, best presage

  Of future bliss, enroll thy name:

  With native worth and spotless fame,

  And wakeful caution, still aware

  Of ill-but chief, Man's felon snare;

  All blameless joys on earth we find,