DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
LIBERTY'S in every blow!-

Let us Do or Die!

Behold the Hour, the Boat arrive.1

BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;

Thou goest, the darling of my heart;
Sever'd from thee, can I survive,

But Fate has will'd and we must part.
I'll often greet the surging swell,
Yon distant Isle will often hail :

"E'en here I took the last farewell;

There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."

Along the solitary shore,

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
Across the rolling, dashing roar,

I'll westward turn my wistful eye:
"Happy, thou Indian grove," I'll say,
"Where now my Nancy's path may be !
While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
O tell me, does she muse on me!"

Down the burn, Davie.2

As down the burn they took their way,
And thro' the flowery dale;

His cheek to hers he aft did lay,

And love was aye the tale:

1 An improved version of the fare- 2 New words to an old air.

well lines to Clarinda in 1791.

WHERE ARE THE JOYS

With "Mary, when shall we return,
Sic pleasure to renew?"

Quoth Mary-"Love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you."

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie.1

Tune--" Fee him, father, fee him."

THOU hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever;
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever:
Aften hast thou vow'd that Death
Only should us sever;

Now thou'st left thy lass for aye-
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I'll see thee never.

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Than canst love another jo,
While my heart is breaking;
Soon my weary een I'll close,
Never mair to waken, Jamie,
Never mair to waken!

Where are the joys I have met??

Tune-"Saw ye my father."

WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc'd to the lark's early song ?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ring,
At evening the wild-woods among?

1 Chambers prefers the old words, and indeed it is always to be regretted when the new words banish the old.

2 The old words are not inferior to this effusion.

DELUDED SWAIN

No more a winding the course of yon river,
And marking sweet flowerets so fair,
No more I trace the light footsteps of Pleasure,
But Sorrow and sad-sighing Care.

Is it that Summer's forsaken our valleys,
And grim, surly Winter is near?

No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses
Proclaim it the pride of the year.

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long, too well have I known;
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor Hope dare a comfort bestow :
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.

Deluded Swain, the pleasure1

Tune-"The Collier's Dochter."

DELUDED Swain, the pleasure
The fickle Fair can give thee,
Is but a fairy treasure,

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee:
The billows on the ocean,

The breezes idly roaming,

The cloud's uncertain motion,

They are but types of Woman.

O art thou not asham'd
To doat upon a feature?
If Man thou wouldst be nam'd,
Despise the silly creature.

1 Pastiche of little merit on an old song.

ON MRS RIDDELL'S BIRTHDAY

Go, find an honest fellow,
Good claret set before thee,
Hold on till thou art mellow,
And then to bed in glory!

Thine am I, my faithful fair.1

Tune-"The Quaker's Wife."

THINE am I, my faithful Fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
Ev'ry roving fancy.
To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish ;
Tho' despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.

Take away those rosy lips,

Rich with balmy treasure;
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure!
What is life when wanting Love?
Night without a morning :
Love's the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.

On Mrs Riddell's Birthday.

4th November 1793.

OLD Winter, with his frosty beard,
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferred:
"What have I done of all the year,
To bear this hated doom severe ?

1 Burns later introduced his eternal "Chloris" into the song.

* The friendship with Mrs Riddell was soon afterwards interrupted.

MY SPOUSE NANCY

My cheerless suns no pleasure know;
Night's horrid car drags dreary slow;
My dismal months no joys are crowning,
But spleeny English hanging, drowning.
"Now Jove, for once be mighty civil,
To counterbalance all this evil;
Give me, and I've no more to say,
Give me Maria's natal day!

That brilliant gift shall so enrich me,

Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me." "Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story, And Winter once rejoiced in glory.

My spouse Nancy.1

Tune-"My Jo Janet."

"HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, Sir;

Tho' I am your wedded wife

Yet I am not your slave, Sir."

"One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy;

Is it Man or Woman, say,
My spouse Nancy?"

"If 'tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience;
I'll desert my sovʼreign lord,

And so, good bye, allegiance!" "Sad will I be, so bereft,

Nancy, Nancy;

Yet I'll try to make a shift,

My spouse Nancy."

"My poor heart, then break it must,

My last hour I am near it :

When you lay me in the dust,
Think how you will bear it."

1 Words for music.