COMPOSED IN SPRING Inscribed on a Work of Hannah More's, Presented to the Author by a Lady.1 THOU flatt'ring mark of friendship kind, For sae approving me: But kind still I'll mind still The giver in the gift; I'll bless her, an' wiss her Song, Composed in Spring. Tune-"Jockey's Grey Breeks." AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues : Chorus.-And maun I still on Menie 2 doat, 1 Not later than April 3, 1786, when Burns sent the piece to Mr Aiken, and spoke of publishing. (Scott Douglas.) 2 Menie is, probably, Jeanie, Miss Armour, and if this be so, Burns's passion for her was more genuine, perhaps, than some critics have supposed. This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author's. Menie is the common abbreviation of Mariamne.-R.B. COMPOSED IN SPRING In vain to me the cowslips blaw, The merry ploughboy cheers his team, Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims, The stately swan majestic swims, And maun I still, &c. The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And maun I still, &c. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come winter, with thine angry howl, And maun I still, &c. · ⚫ grove. b careful. • shuts the opening in his fold. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY To a Mountain Daisy.1 On turning one down with the Plough, in April 1786. WEE, modest, crimson-tippèd flow'r, Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckl'd breast! When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie stibble field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, a dust. b shelter. 1 The mountain must have been a bosse verdâtre, as Mérimée calls the Tweedside hills. The "simple bard" c barren. was at this time entangled in unhappy and incongruous love affairs. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless maid, And guileless trust; Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n, To mis'ry's brink; Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, He, ruin'd, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom! TO RUIN To Ruin.1 ALL hail, inexorable lord! With stern-resolv'd, despairing eye, I see each aimèd dart; For one has cut my dearest tie, Then low'ring, and pouring, And thou grim Pow'r by life abhorr'd, My weary heart its throbbings cease, Enclasped, and grasped, Within thy cold embrace! 1 An expression of amatory and financial melancholy at this unlucky period. |