Than a' the pride that loads the tide,
And crosses o'er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes,
Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight,
Or nature aught of pleasure give;
While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live;
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
It breaks my bliss-it breaks my heart.
This is an early composition. It was the first of the Poet's songs composed in praise of "Bonnie Jean," afterwards Mrs. Burns.
TUNE-My mother's ay glowering owre me.
LOUIS, what reck I by thee,
Or Geordie on his ocean:
Dyvor,' beggar louns2 to me,
I reign in Jeanie's bosom."
Let her crown my love her law,
And in her breast enthrone me
Kings and nations swith3 awa,
Rief randies, I disown ye!
This song is founded on an old border ditty, beginning
"Willie Wastle dwells in his castle,
An' nae a loun in a' the town
Can tak Willie Wastle doun."
TUNE-Tibbie Fowler in the glen.
WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster" guid
Bankrupt.-2 Ragamuffins.-3 Get away.-4 Thievish queans.-5 Weaver.
Cou'd stown' a clue wi' onie bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,?
Oh, tinkler Madgie was her mither:
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
She has an ee, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very color;
Five rusty teeth, forbye' a stump,
A clapper tongue wad deaves a miller;
A whiskin' beard about her mou,
Her nose and chin they threaten ither:
Sic a wife, &c.
She's bow-hough'd," she's hein-shinn'd,"
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair on ilka' quarter;
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther:
Sic a wife, &c.
Auld baudrans1o by the ingle" sits,
And wi' her loof 12 her face a-washin';
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion;13
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,15
Her face wad fyle1 the Logan water:
Sic a wife, &c.
1 Stolen-supposed to allude to the dishonest practices of some weavers who purloin the yarn that is sent to the loom.
2 Sullen and shallow.-3 A gipsey woman.-4 Besides.-5 Deafen.- Knockkneed. Bony-shinned.-8 Hand-breadth.- Every.-10 The cat.—11 Fireplace.-12 Hand.-13 Cleans her mouth with a cushion.-14 Large fists.15 Dung-baskets.-16 Make dirty.
I HAE A WIFE O' MY AIN.
The Poet was accustomed to say that the most happy period of his life was the first winter he spent at Elliesland,-for the first time under a roof of his own with his wife and children about him. It is known that he wel. comed his wife to her roof-tree at Elliesland in this song.-Lockhart.
I HAE a wife o' my ain,
I'll partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak cuckold frae nane,
I'll gie cuckold to naebody.
I hae a penny to spend,
There-thanks to naebody;
I hae naething to lend,
I'll borrow frae naebody.
I am naebody's lord,
I'll be slave to naebody;
I hae a guid braid sword,
I'll tak dunts' frae naebody.
I'll be merry and free,
I'll be sad for naebody;
If naebody care for me,
I'll care for naebody.
Composed," says Burns, "on my little idol, the charming, lovely Davies."
TUNE-The Lads of Saltcoats.
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wast thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.3
WISHFULLY I look and languish,
In that bonnie face o' thine;
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Bonnie wee thing, &c.
Wit and grace, and love and beauty,
In ae constellation shine:
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine.
Bonnie wee thing, &c.
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
The "Poor and Honest Sodger" laid hold at once on public feeling, and it was everywhere sung with enthusiasm, which only began to abate when Campbell's Exile of Erin and Wounded Hussar were published.-Lockhart's Life of Burns. TUNE-The mill, mill, O.
WHEN wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless,
And monie a widow mourning,
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor but honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder,
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
Where early life I sported,
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted;
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood,
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, "Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
Oh happy, happy may he be
That's dearest to thy bosom!
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I've served my king and country lang,
Take pity on a sodger."
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, "A sodger ance I lo'ed;
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't."
She gazed-she redden'd like a rose—
Syne pale like onie lily,
She sank within mine arms and cried,
"Art thou my ain dear Willie?"
"By Him who made yon sun and sky,
By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded!
"The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair we 'se ne'er be parted."
Quo' she, "My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen' plenish'd fairly:
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly!"
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth his honor:
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
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