Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; An' she's twa glancin' sparklin' e'en. But it's not her air, her form, her face, WAE IS MY HEART. WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e; Lang, lang joy's been a stranger to me: Forsaken and friendless my burden I bear, And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. Love thou hast pleasures; and deep hae I loved; Love thou hast sorrows; and sair hae I proved: But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast, I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. O if I were, where happy I hae been; Down by yon stream and yon bonie castle green; For there he is wand'ring and musing on me, Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. FRAGMENT. HER flowing locks, the raven's wing, Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, BALLAD. BALLAD. To thee, lov'd Nith, thy gladsome plains, I love thee Nith, thy banks and braes, FRAGMENT. THE winter it is past, and the simmer comes at last, And the small birds sing on every tree; Now every thing is glad while I am very sad, Since my true love is parted from me. The rose upon the brier by the waters running clear, May have charms for the linnet or the bee; Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, But my true love is parted from me. SONG. SONG. Tune-Banks of Banna. YESTREEN 1 had a pint o' wine, A place where body saw na'; Ye monarchs tak the east and west, Gie me within my straining grasp Awa thou flaunting god o' day! Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a'; My transports wi' my Anna! SONG. SONG. THE Deil cam fiddling thro' the town, 66 "We'll mak our maut, and brew our drink, "We'll dance and sing and rejoice man; "And mony thanks to the muckle black Deil, "That danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. "There's threesome reels, and foursome reels, "There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man; "But the ae best dance e'er cam to our lan', "Was-the Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman. "We'll mak our maut, &c.”. SONG. *At a meeting of his brother Excisemen in Dumfries, Burns being called upon for a Song, handed these verses extempore to the President, written on the back of a letter. |