Her looks are like the sportive lamb,
When flow'ry May adorns the scene,
That wantons round its bleating dam;
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.
Her hair is like the curling mist
That shades the mountain side at e'en, When flow'r-reviving rains are past;
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.
Her forehead 's like the show'ry bow,
When shining sunbeams intervene
And gild the distant mountains brow;
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.
Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush
That sings in Cessnock banks unseen,
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;
An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin, e'en.
Her lips are like the cherries ripe,
That sunny walls from boreas screen, They tempt the taste and charm the sight; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.
Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,
That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en,
Her breath is like the fragrant breeze
That gently stirs the blossom❜d bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; An' she 's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en.
But it's not her air, her form, her face,
Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen,
But the mind that shines in ev'ry grace
And chiefly in her sparklin' e'en.
Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my e'e;
Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear,
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear.
Love thou hast pleasures: and deep hae I loved;
Love thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved:
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast,
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest.
O if I were, where happy I hae been ;
Down by yon stream and yon bonie castle green: For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e.
Her flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast, her bonie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.
To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains,
Where late wi' careless thought I rang'd,
Though prest wi' care and sunk in woe,
To thee I bring a heart unchang'd.-
I love thee Nith, thy banks and braes,
Tho' mem'ry there my bosom tear;
For there he rov'd that brake my heart,
Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear!
The winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last,
And the small birds sing on every tree;
Now every thing is glad while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at
But my true love is parted from me.
Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,
A place where body saw na';
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine
The gowden locks of Anna.
The hungry Jew in wilderness
Rejoicing o'er his manna,
Was naething to my hinny bliss
Upon the lips of Anna.
Ye monarchs tak the east and west,
Frae Indus to Savannah !
Gie me within my straining grasp
The melting form of Anna.
"There I'll despise imperial charms,
An Empress or Sultana,
While dying raptures in her arms
I give and take with Anna!
Awa thou flaunting god o' day!
Awa thou pale Diana!
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray
When I'm to meet my Anna.
Come, in thy raven plumage, night,
Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';
And bring an angel pen to write
My transports wi' my Anna!
The Deil cam fiddling thro' the town,
And danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman;
And ilka wife cry'd, " Auld Mahoun,
"We wish you luck o' the prize man.
"We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink,
"We'll dance and sing and rejoice man;
"And mony thanks to the muckle black Deil,
"That danc'd away wi' the Exciseman.
"There's threesome reels, and foursome reels,
"There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man;
"But the ae best dance e'er cam to our lan',
the Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.
"We'll mak our maut, &c."
* At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns being called upon for a song, handed these verses extempore to the President, written on the back of a letter.
Powers celestial, whose protection
Ever guards the virtuous fair,
While in distant climes I wander,
Let my Mary be your care:
Let her form sae fair and faultless,
Fair and faultless as your own;
Let my Mary's kindred spirit,
Draw your choicest influence down.
Make the gales you waft around her
Soft and peaceful as her breast;
Breathing in the breeze that fans her,
Sooth her bosom into rest:
Guardian angels, O protect her,
When in distant lands I roam;
To realms unknown while fate exiles me,
Make her bosom still my home.*
I red you beware at the hunting.
The heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn
Our lads gaed a hunting, ae the day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discovered a bonie moor-hen.
I red you beware at the hunting, young men;
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
Tak some on the ring, and some as they spring,
But cannily steal on a bonie moor-hen.
* Probably written on Highland Mary, on the eve of the poet's departure to the West Indies.
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