MY PEGGY'S CHARMS 1

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit Age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.

I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace, so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway!
Who but knows they all decay!

The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms—
These are all immortal charms.

1 "Peggy" was Miss Margaret Chalmers, whose "immortal charms" made a deep impression on the heart of Burns; so deep that his last Poem, written nine days before he died, was written about her. He told Clarinda of his fondness for Peggy, so it is appropriate to place this poem and the following at the end of the poems he wrote to Clarinda.

BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS

BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS 1

WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes;
As one who by some savage stream
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant Death, with grim controul,
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

1 To Peggy Chalmers.

FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS 1

Chorus.-Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,

Wilt thou lay that frown aside,

And smile as thou wert wont to do?

FULL Well thou know'st I love thee dear,
Could thou to malice lend an ear?
O did not Love exclaim, 'Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so.'
Fairest maid, etc.

Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, O let me share;
And by thy beauteous self I swear,

No love but thine my heart shall know.
Fairest maid, etc.

This his last song was written to Peggy Chalmers. She said Burns asked her to marry him at one time. He certainly greatly admired her. The song was written nine days before he died.

THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE

1

THEIR GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE 1

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let Foreign Lands reckon,

Where bright beaming summers exalt the perfume; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan,

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk, lowly, unseen: For there, lightly tripping, among the wild flowers, A-list'ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny valleys,
And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave;
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud
palace,

What are they?—the haunt of the Tyrant and Slave. The Slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, The brave Caledonian views with disdain;

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, Save Love's willing fetters-the chains o' his Jean.

1 To Jean Lorimer.

'TWAS NA HER BONIE BLUE E'E1

'Twas na her bonie blue e'e was my ruin,

Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoin'; 'Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stoun glance o' kindness, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stoun glance o' kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me,
But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever:
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou'rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter:
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

1 Written to Jean Lorimer.