The dinner, the piper, and priest shall be ready, LOCHABER NO MORE. Tune" Lochaber no more." FAREWELL to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean, Tho' hurricanes rise, and rise ev'ry wind, They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind. Tho' loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd, By ease that's inglorious, no fame can be gain'd. And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, And I must deserve it before I can crave. Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse, Since honour commands me, how can I refuse? Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, And without thy favour I'd better not be. I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame, And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. THE LOWLANDS OF HOLLAND ANOTHER VERSION. THE luve that I hae chosen I'll therewith be content; My luve lies in the saut sea, And I am on the side; Enough to break a young thing's heart And pleasure in her ee; Hae twined my love and me. Oh! Holland is a barren place, In it there grows nae grain, Wherein for to remain ; And the wine draps frae the tree; But the Lowlands of Holland Hae twined my love and me. My love he built a bonnie ship, To bear her companie. And three score died at sea; And the Lowlands of Holland Hae twined my love and me. JOCKY SAID TO JEANY. JOCKY said to Jeany, Jeany, wilt thou do't? I hae gowd and gear, I hae land enough, I hae a good ha' house, a barn and a byre, Jeany said to Jocky, Gin ye winna tell, JENNY DANG THE WEAVER JENNY lap, and Jenny flang, Jenny dang the weaver; As I cam in by Fisherrow, And courtit wi' my deerie. Had Jenny's apron bidden down The kirk wad ne'er hae ken'd it; But now the word 's gane thro' the town, The devil canna mend it, Jenny lap, and Jenny flang, Jenny dang the weaver; The piper played as Jenny sprang, And aye she dang the weaver. AS I WENT OUT AE MAY MORNING. | We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear, Come up amang our Highland hills, Thou wee, wee German lairdie, Our hills are steep, our glens are deep, Thou feckless German lairdie! 188 BURNS'S SONGS. ADIEU! A HEART-WARM FOND ADIEU! | Who shall say that fortune grieves him, Tune" The Peacock." ADIEU! a heart-warm fond adieu! Dear brothers of the mystic tie! Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few, Companions of my social joy! Though I to foreign lands must hie, Pursuing Fortune's sliddry ba', With melting heart, and brimful eye, I'll mind you still, though far awa'. Oft have I met your social band, And spent the cheerful festive night; Oft, honour'd with supreme command, Presided o'er the sons of light; And by that hieroglyphic bright, Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! Strong memory on my heart shall write Those happy scenes when far awa! May freedom, harmony, and love, Shall be my prayer when far awa. And you, farewell! whose merits claim, To him, the bard, that's far awa.* AE FOND KISS. A fond kiss, and then we sever; Written as a sort of farewell to the Masonic companions of his youth, when the poet was on the point of leaving Scotland for Jamaica, 1786, - While the star of hope she leaves him? I'll ne'er blame thy partial fancy, My gallant, braw John Highlandman! Thy crystal stream, Afton, now lovely it glides, | But he still was faithful to his can, Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; AGAIN REJOICING NATURE SEES. Tune-" Johnnie's Grey Breeks." AGAIN rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues ; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. In vain to me the cowslips blaw; In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry ploughboy cheers his team; A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims ; And every thing is blest but I. The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps, And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, A HIGHLAND LAD MY LOVE WAS THE "RAUCLE CARLINE'S" SONG IN THE "JOLLY BEGGARS." Tune-"O an ye war dead, guidman !" A HIGHLAND lad my love was born, The Lawland laws he held in scorn; Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman ! With his philabeg and tartan plaid, We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, They banished him beyond the sea; But, och! they catched him at the last, And now, a widow, I must mourn AMANG THE TREES WHERE HUM- Tune-"The King of France, he rade a Race.” At buds and flowers were hinging, O; And to her pipe was singing, O; Their capon craws and queer ha ha's, A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT. Tune--" For a' that, and a' that. Is there, for honest poverty, Our toils obscure, and a' that, What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear boddin-grey, and a' that? Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A man's a man for a' that; For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae puir, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; His ribbon, star, and a' that, Gie me within my straining grasp Awa, thou flaunting god of day! ANNIE. Tune-" Allan Water." I WALKED out with the Museum in my hand, and turning up Allan Water, the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, so I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn till I wrote one to suit the measure. By Allan stream I chanced to rove, While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi, The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready : I listen'd to a lover's sang, And thought on youthful pleasures many; And aye the wild-wood echoes tangO, dearly do I love thee, Annie! O, happy be the woodbine bower; The place and time I meet my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, I'm thine for ever! While many a kiss the seal impress'd, The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae; Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, Or through each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure? This song, like "Highland Mary," affords a strong proof of the power which poetry possesses of raising and subliming objects. Highland Mary was the dairymaid of Coilsfield; Anna is said to have been some thing meaner. The poet sure was in a fine phrenzy rolling when he said, "I think this is the best lovesong I ever wrote." |