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Poems and Songs (Dover Thrift Editions)

Burns, Robert

The Poems and Songs

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Robert Burns

The Poems and Songs

O once I lov'd

O once I lov'd a bonnie lass,

An' aye I love her still,

An' whilst that virtue warms my breast

I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonnie lasses I hae seen,

And mony full as braw,

But for a modest gracefu' mein

The like I never saw.

A bonny lass I will confess,

Is pleasant to the e'e,

But without some better qualities

She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,

And what is best of a',

Her reputation is compleat,

And fair without a flaw;

She dresses ay sae clean and neat,

Both decent and genteel;

And then there 's something in her gait

Gars ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air

May slightly touch the heart,

But it's innocence and modesty

That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,

'Tis this enchants my soul;

For absolutely in my breast

She reigns without controul.

Song, composed in August

Tune, I had a horse, I had nae mair

Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns

Bring Autumn's pleasant weather;

The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,

Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary Farmer;

The moon shines bright, as I rove at night,

To muse upon my Charmer.

The Pairtrick lo'es the fruitfu' fells;

The Plover lo'es the mountains;

The Woodcock haunts the lanely dells;

The soaring Hern the fountains:

Thro' lofty groves, the Cushat roves,

The path o' man to shun it;

The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush,

The spreading thorn the Linnet.

III

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

The savage and the tender;

Some social join, and leagues combine;

Some solitary wander:

Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion;

The Sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,

The flutt'ring, gory pinion!

But PEGGY dear, the ev'ning 's clear,

Thick flies the skimming Swallow;

The sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow:

Come let us stray our gladsome way,

And view the charms o' Nature;

The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,

And ilka happy creature.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

While the silent moon shines clearly;

I'll clasp thy waist, and fondly prest,

Swear how I lo'e thee dearly:

Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,

Not Autumn to the Farmer,

So dear can be, as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely Charmer!

I dream'd I lay, &c.

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing

Gaily in the sunny beam,

List'ning to the wild birds singing,

By a falling, chrystal stream;

Streight the sky grew black and daring,

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;

Trees with aged arms were warring,

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave.

Such was my life's deceitful morning,

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd;

But lang or noon, loud tempests storming

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.

Tho' fickle Fortune has deceiv'd me,

She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;

Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,

I bear a heart shall support me still.

Song

Tune, My Nanie, O

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows,

'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,

The wintry sun the day has clos'd,

And I'll awa to Nanie, O.

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;

The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;

But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,

An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.

III

My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young;

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:

May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonie, O;

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O;

But what care I how few they be,

I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O;

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,

My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O.

VII

Our auld Guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;

But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

VIII

Come weel come woe, I care na by,

I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O;

Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

A Penitential thought, in the hour of Remorse – Intended for a tragedy

In my early years nothing less would serve me than courting the tragic Muse. – I was, I think, about eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the outlines of a Tragedy forsooth; but the bursting of a cloud of family Misfortunes, which had for some time threatened us, prevented my farther progress. – In those days I never wrote down anything; so, except a speech or two, the whole has escaped my memory. – The following, which I most distinctly remember, was an exclamation from a great character – great in occasional instance[s] of generosity, and daring at times in villainies. – He is supposed to meet with a child of misery, and exclaims to himself –

All devil as I am, a damned wretch,

A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting villain,

Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;

And with sincere tho' unavailing sighs

I view the helpless children of Distress.

With tears indignant I behold th' Oppressor,

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,

Whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime.

Even you, ye hapless crew, I pity you;

Ye, whom the Seeming good think sin to pity;

Ye poor, despis'd, abandon'd vagabonds,

Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to Ruin.

O, but for kind, tho' ill-requited friends,

I had been driven forth like you forlorn,

The most detested, worthless wretch among you!

O injur'd God! Thy goodness has endow'd me

With talents passing most of my compeers,

Which I in just proportion have abus'd;

As far surpassing other common villains

As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more –

Song –

Tune, Invercald's reel – Strathspey

Chorus

Tibby I hae seen the day

Ye wadna been sae shy

For laik o' gear ye lightly me

But trowth I care na by –

Yestreen I met you on the Moor

Ye spak'na but gaed by like stoor

Ye geck at me because I'm poor

But fien' a hair care I. –

[When comin' hame on Sunday last

Upon the road as I cam' past

Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast

But trouth I caretna by –]

I doubt na lass, but ye may think

Because ye hae the name o' clink

That ye can please me at a wink

Whene'er ye like to try –

But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean

Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean

Wha follows ony saucy Quean

That looks sae proud and high –

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart

If that he want the yellow dirt

Ye'll cast your head anither airt

An' answer him fu' dry –

But if he hae the name o' gear

Ye'll fasten to him like a breer

Tho' hardly he for sense or lear

Be better than the ky –

But Tibby lass tak' my advice

Your daddie's gear mak's you sae nice

The de'il a ane wad speir your price

Were ye as poor as I –

[There lives a lass beside yon park

I'd rather hae her in her sark

Than you wi' a' your thousand mark

That gars you look sae high –

An' Tibby I hae seen the day

Ye wadna been sae shy

An' for laik o' gear ye lightly me

But fien' a hair care I.]

A Fragment –

Tune, John Anderson, my jo –

One night as I did wander,

When corn begins to shoot,

I sat me down to ponder

Upon an auld tree root:

Auld Aire ran by before me,

And bicker'd to the seas;

A cushat crouded o'er me

That echoed thro' the braes.

Song

Tune, Corn rigs are bonie

It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bonie,

Beneath the moon's unclouded light,

I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,

Till 'tween the late and early;

Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,

To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,

The moon was shining clearly;

I set her down, wi' right good will,

Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;

I lov'd her most sincerely;

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

III

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;

Her heart was beating rarely:

My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,

That shone that hour so clearly!

She ay shall bless that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear;

I hae been merry drinking;

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;

I hae been happy thinking:

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,

That happy night was worth them a',

Amang the rigs o' barley.

Chorus

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

Song

Tune, Gilderoy

From thee, ELIZA, I must go,

And from my native shore:

The cruel fates between us throw

A boundless ocean's roar;

But boundless oceans, roaring wide,

Between my Love and me,

They never, never can divide

My heart and soul from thee.

Farewell, farewell, ELIZA dear,

The maid that I adore!

A boding voice is in mine ear,

We part to meet no more!

But the latest throb that leaves my heart,

While Death stands victor by,

That throb, ELIZA, is thy part,

And thine that latest sigh!

Winter, A Dirge

The Wintry West extends his blast,

And hail and rain does blaw;

Or, the stormy North sends driving forth,

The blinding sleet and snaw:

While, tumbling brown, the Burn comes down,

And roars frae bank to brae;

And bird and beast, in covert, rest,

And pass the heartless day.

»The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,«1

The joyless winter-day,

Let others fear, to me more dear,

Than all the pride of May:

The Tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine!

III

Thou Pow'r SUPREME, whose mighty Scheme,

These woes of mine fulfil;

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy Will!

Then all I want (Oh, do thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign!

1 Dr. Young.

Song –

Tune, If he be a Butcher neat an' trim

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;

Could I describe her shape and mien;

Our lassies a' she far excels,