THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE

But what wad ye think?—in a fortnight or less—
The deil tak his taste to gae near her!

He up the Gate-slack1 to my black cousin, Bess

Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her;
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week, as I petted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock;
But wha but my fine fickle wooer was there,
I glowr'd' as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.

But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink,
Lest neibours might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin,

And how her new shoon fit her auld schachl'td feet,2
But heavens! how he fell a swearin, a swearin,

But heavens! how he fell a swearin.

He begged, for gudesake, I wad be his wife,

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow;

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

a fair.

This is no my Ain Lassie.3

Tune-"This is no my house."

Chorus-THIS is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be;
Weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.

b stared.

1 Altered to "lang loan" to please Thomson, who also objected to "Dalgarnock" in the next verse as too

local.

O BONIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER

I see a form, I see a face,

Ye weel may wi' the fairest place;
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that's in her e'e.
This is no my ain, &c.

She's bonie, blooming, straight, and tall,
And lang has had my heart in thrall;
And aye it charms my very saul,

The kind love that's in her e'e.
This is no my ain, &c.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,
To steal a blink, by a' unseen;
But gleg as light are lover's een,
When kind love is in her e'e.

This is no my ain, &c.

It may escape the courtly sparks,
It may escape the learned clerks;
But well the watching lover marks
The kind love that's in her eye.
This is no my ain, &c.

O bonie was yon Rosy Brier.'

O BONIE was yon rosy brier,

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man;
And bonie she, and ah, how dear!
It shaded frae the e'enin sun.

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew,

How pure, amang the leaves sae green;

But purer was the lover's vow

They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

1 Thought to be the last of many songs on Chloris,

TO ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM

All in its rude and prickly bower,

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair;
But love is far a sweeter flower,

Amid life's thorny path o' care.

The pathless wild, and whimpling burn,
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine;
And I the warld nor wish nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.

Song Inscribed to Alexander Cunningham.1

Now spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers.
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps o' woe!

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
That glides, a silver dart,

And, safe beneath the shady thorn,
Defies the angler's art-

My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;

But Love, wi' unrelenting beam,

Has scorch'd my fountains dry.

That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;

And now, beneath the withering blast,
My youth and joy consume.

1 Dated August 3, 1795, or sent to Mr Cunningham on that date.

THE LASSIE O' MY HEART

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe his dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye;

As little reck'd I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare

O' witching Love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whose doom is "hope nae mair"
What tongue his woes can tell;

Within whase bosom, save Despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.

O that's the Lassie o' my Heart.1

Tune-"Morag."

O WAT ye wha that loes me
And has my heart a-keeping?
O sweet is she that lo'es me,
As dews o' summer weeping,
In tears the rosebuds steeping!

Chorus-O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;

O she's the queen o' womankind,
peer her.

And ne'er a ane to

If thou shalt meet a lassie,

In grace and beauty charming,

That e'en thy chosen lassie,

Erewhile thy breast sae warming,
Had ne'er sic powers alarming;
O that's the lassie, &c.

1 Sent to Mr Cleghorn, in January 1796, after an illness of the Poet's.

INSCRIPTION

If thou hadst heard her talking,
And thy attention's plighted,
That ilka body talking,

But her, by thee is slighted,
And thou art all-delighted;
O that's the lassie, &c.

If thou hast met this Fair One,
When frae her thou hast parted,
If every other Fair One

But her, thou hast deserted,
And thou art broken-hearted;

O that's the lassie o' my heart,
My lassie ever dearer;
O that's the queen o' womankind,
And ne'er a ane to

Inscription,

peer

her.

Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the Lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of—" Chloris."1

"TIs Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend,
Nor thou the gift refuse,

Nor with unwilling ear attend

The moralising Muse.

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms,
Must bid the world adieu,

(A world 'gainst Peace in constant arms)
To join the Friendly Few.

Since, thy gay morn of life o'ercast,

Chill came the tempest's lour;

(And ne'er Misfortune's eastern blast

Did nip a fairer flower.)

1 This sets forth the true nature of Burns's affection for Miss Lorimer.