LORD GREGORY O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 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, I lang, lang had denied. How aften didst thou pledge and vow, Thou wad for ay be mine! Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast: Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by, Ye mustering thunders from above, But spare and pardon my fause Love, YOUNG PEGGY YOUNG PEGGY YOUNG PEGGY blooms our boniest lass. Her lips, more than the cherries bright, Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, Detraction's eye no aim can gain, Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love and Truth Still fan the sweet connubial flame A HEALTH TO ANE I LOE DEAR A HEALTH TO ANE I LOE DEAR1 Chorus.-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-Jessie. ALTHO' thou maun never be mine, Altho' even hope is denied; 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Than aught in the world beside-Jessie. I mourn thro' the gay, gaudy day, But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling e'e; 'Gainst Fortune's fell, cruel decree-Jessie. 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, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee; Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 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. |