Ye're like to the timmer' o' yon rotten wood,
Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree,
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
Ye'll crack your credit wi' mae' nor me.
The air of this song was taken down from the singing of Mrs. Burns. The fol lowing is the first verse of the old song to the same tuue:
"There was a pretty May, and a milking she went,
Wi' her red rosie cheeks, an' her coal black hair."
On luve will venture in where it daur na weel3 be seen,
Oh luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been;
But I will down yon river rove, among the wood sae green,
And a' to pu" a posie to my ain dear May.
The primrose I will pu', the firstlin' o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear,
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer;
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,
For it's like a baumy kiss o' her bonnie sweet mou;
The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair,
In her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there;
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air,
And a to be a posie to my ain dear May.
The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller gray,
Where, like an agéd man, it stands at break o' day,
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away;
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near,
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear;
The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear,
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.
I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve,
And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above,
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remuve,
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.
1 Timber.-2 More.-3 Dare not well.-4 Pull.
The old air, "Wat ye how the play began," to which this song was written, is lively-the words plaintive. Burns frequently united music and poetry together, without considering much the natural dispositions of the parties.
ANCE mair' I hail thee, thou gloomy December!
Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, Parting wi' Nancy-oh, ne'er to meet mair! Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure; Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, Oh farewell forever,
Is anguish unmingled and agony pure.
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest,
Till the last leaf of the summer is flown,
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom,
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone;
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December,
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care;
For sad was the parting thou makes me remember,
Parting wi' Nancy-oh, ne'er to meet mair!
In the "Edinburgh Miscellany," 1809, a copy of this song is printed with two additional verses; but they do not appear to be the work of Burns,
THE smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,
And surly Winter grimly flies:
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,
And bonnie blue are the sunny skies;
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,
The evening gilds the ocean's swell,
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,
And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell.
The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer,
And yellow Autumn presses near,
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,
Till smiling Spring again appear.
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,
Old Time and Nature their changes tell,
But never ranging, still unchanging,
I adore my bonnie Bell.
In some of the earlier editions of this song, "sailor" is substituted for "weaver."
TUNE-The auld wife ayont the fine.
WHERE Carti rins rowin" to the sea,
By mony a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,*
And I gied it to the weaver.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,"
To gie the lad that has the land,
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees rejoice in opening flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.
1 The name of a river.-2 Runs rolling.-3 Eight. Would be lostMarriage-bond.
The air and the first verse of this song are taken from an old Ayrshire
Он, my luve 's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
Oh, my luve 's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang1 dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR,
BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF
MAR, FOUGHT NOV. 13, 1715.
TUNE-The Cameronian Rant.
"Оn cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were you at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man?"
I saw the battle, sair and tough,
And reekin'-red ran mony a sheugh,3
My heart, for fear, gae sough' for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds."
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,"
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
Go.-2 Sore.-3 Ditch.-4 Sign.-5 A loud intermitting noise.- Clouds In clothing made of the tartan check,-8 Aimed at.
The red-coat lads wi' black cockades
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And mony a bouk' did fa', man:
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanced twenty miles:
They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash'd,
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey' men died awa, man.
But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin' tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they dared our whigs
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets opposed the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.
"Oh how deil Tam can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man:
I saw myself, they did pursue
The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig' wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, curséd lot! the gates were shut,
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man.'
My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swore she saw some rebels run
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man;
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors' blood to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose; all crying woes,
And so it goes, you see, man.
1 Vomiting.- Foe.-3 A short petticoat worn by the HighlandersShining checkered trowsers.-5 Target.-6 Doves-7 Bridge-8 Swoon.• Cups of broth.
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