LORD GREGORY

O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for sake o' thee;

At least some pity on me shaw,

If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove

By bonie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love

I lang, lang had denied.

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,

Thou wad for ay be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,

And flinty is thy breast:

Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!

Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victims see;

But spare and pardon my fause Love,
His wrangs to Heaven and me.

YOUNG PEGGY

YOUNG PEGGY

YOUNG PEGGY blooms our boniest lass.
Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With early gems adorning.
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.

Her lips, more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has graced them;
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them;
Her smile is as the evening mild,
When feather'd pairs are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Such sweetness would relent her;
As blooming spring unbends the brow
Of surly savage winter.

Detraction's eye no aim can gain,
Her winning pow'rs to lessen;
And fretful Envy grins in vain
The poison'd tooth to fasten.

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love and Truth
From ev'ry ill defend her!
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth
The destinies intend her:

Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Responsive in each bosom;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.

A HEALTH TO ANE I LOE DEAR

A HEALTH TO ANE I LOE DEAR1

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

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers

meet,

And soft as their parting tear-Jessie.

ALTHO' thou maun never be mine,

Altho' even hope is denied;

'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,

Than aught in the world beside-Jessie.
Here's a health, etc.

I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day,
As hopeless I muse on thy charms;

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lockt in thine arms-Jessie.
Here's a health, etc.

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-Jessie.
Here's a health, etc.

1 This song and the next, written to Jessie Lawars, the young girl who nursed him in his last sickness, and the poem, "Fairest Maid on Devon's Banks" (see page 236), written to Margaret Chalmers (Peggy) nine days before his death, were the last three songs Burns wrote.

O WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST1

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 Mistfortune'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.

1 Jessie Lewars sang the beautiful air to which this fine song was composed, accompanying herself on her harpsichord while Burns wrote the song.

Jean Armour, his wife, was a sweet singer and she sang the old Scotch airs to Burns over and over to him till his heart was kindled into rhythmic movement in harmony with the music. Then he planned his poem and in the gloaming walked by the Nith or in some well-loved woods and composed his lines. Burns composed his songs to music; other poets wrote their poems, and the music was written to the words. Burns had a dis tinct advantage.