AULD LANG SYNE

[2]The melody to which the song is now sung is not that to which Burns wrote it, but was an old strathspey tune. It is possible, however, that he agreed to its adoption by Thomson.

It opens thus:

Should old acquaintance be forgotAnd never thought upon,The Flames of Love extinguishèdAnd freely past and gone?Is thy kind Heart now grown so coldIn that Loving Breast of thine,That thou can'st never once reflectOn old-long-syne.

Should old acquaintance be forgot

And never thought upon,

The Flames of Love extinguishèd

And freely past and gone?

Is thy kind Heart now grown so cold

In that Loving Breast of thine,

That thou can'st never once reflect

On old-long-syne.

And so on, for eighty lines.

Allan Ramsay rewrote it for hisTea-Table Miscellany(1724), and a specimen stanza will show that it was still going down-hill:

Should auld acquaintance be forgotTho' they return with scars?These are the noble hero's lot,Obtain'd in glorious wars;Welcome, my Varo, to my breast,Thy arms about me twine,And make me once again as blestAs I was lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

Tho' they return with scars?

These are the noble hero's lot,

Obtain'd in glorious wars;

Welcome, my Varo, to my breast,

Thy arms about me twine,

And make me once again as blest

As I was lang syne.

The remaining four stanzas are worse. Burns may have had further hints to work on which are now lost; but the best, part of the song, stanzas three and four, are certainly his, and it is unlikely that he inherited more than some form of the first verse and the chorus.

Should auld acquaintance be forgotoldAnd never brought to min'?mindShould auld acquaintance be forgot,And auld lang syne?long agoFor auld lang syne, my dear.For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,will pay forAnd surely I'll be mine;And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yetFor auld lang syne.We twa hae run about the braes,two have, hillsidesAnd pu'd the gowans fine;pulled, daisiesBut we've wander'd mony a weary footSin' auld lang syne.We twa hae paidled i' the burn,waded, brookFrom morning sun till dine;noonBut seas between us braid hae roar'dbroadSin' auld lang syne.And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,comradeAnd gie's a hand o' thine;give meAnd we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,draught of good willFor auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgotoldAnd never brought to min'?mindShould auld acquaintance be forgot,And auld lang syne?long ago

Should auld acquaintance be forgotold

And never brought to min'?mind

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne?long ago

For auld lang syne, my dear.For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear.

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,will pay forAnd surely I'll be mine;And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yetFor auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,will pay for

And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,two have, hillsidesAnd pu'd the gowans fine;pulled, daisiesBut we've wander'd mony a weary footSin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,two have, hillsides

And pu'd the gowans fine;pulled, daisies

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot

Sin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,waded, brookFrom morning sun till dine;noonBut seas between us braid hae roar'dbroadSin' auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidled i' the burn,waded, brook

From morning sun till dine;noon

But seas between us braid hae roar'dbroad

Sin' auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,comradeAnd gie's a hand o' thine;give meAnd we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,draught of good willFor auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,comrade

And gie's a hand o' thine;give me

And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,draught of good will

For auld lang syne.

A more remarkable case of patchwork isA Red, Red Rose. Antiquarian research has discovered in chap-books and similar sources four songs, from each of which a stanza, in some such form as follows, seems to have proved suggestive to Burns:

Her cheeks are like the RosesThat blossom fresh in June,O, she's like a new strung instrumentThat's newly put in tune.Altho' I go a thousand milesI vow thy face to see,Altho' I go ten thousand milesI'll come again to thee, dear Love,I'll come again to thee.The seas they shall run dry,And rocks melt into sands;Then I'll love you still, my dear,When all those things are done.Fare you well, my own true love,And fare you well for a while,And I will be sure to return back again,If I go ten thousand mile.

Her cheeks are like the RosesThat blossom fresh in June,O, she's like a new strung instrumentThat's newly put in tune.

Her cheeks are like the Roses

That blossom fresh in June,

O, she's like a new strung instrument

That's newly put in tune.

Altho' I go a thousand milesI vow thy face to see,Altho' I go ten thousand milesI'll come again to thee, dear Love,I'll come again to thee.

Altho' I go a thousand miles

I vow thy face to see,

Altho' I go ten thousand miles

I'll come again to thee, dear Love,

I'll come again to thee.

The seas they shall run dry,And rocks melt into sands;Then I'll love you still, my dear,When all those things are done.

The seas they shall run dry,

And rocks melt into sands;

Then I'll love you still, my dear,

When all those things are done.

Fare you well, my own true love,And fare you well for a while,And I will be sure to return back again,If I go ten thousand mile.

Fare you well, my own true love,

And fare you well for a while,

And I will be sure to return back again,

If I go ten thousand mile.

The genealogy of the lyric is still more complicated than these sources imply, but the specimens given are enough to show the nature of the ore from which Burns extracted the pure gold of his well-known song:

O, my love is like a red red roseThat's newly sprung in June:O, my love is like the melodieThat's sweetly play'd in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,So deep in love am I:And I will love thee still, my dear,Till a' the seas gang dry.goTill a' the seas gang dry, my dear,And the rocks melt wi' the sun:And I will love thee still, my dear,While the sands o' life shall run.And fare thee weel, my only love,And fare thee weel a while!And I will come again, my love,Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

O, my love is like a red red roseThat's newly sprung in June:O, my love is like the melodieThat's sweetly play'd in tune.

O, my love is like a red red rose

That's newly sprung in June:

O, my love is like the melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,So deep in love am I:And I will love thee still, my dear,Till a' the seas gang dry.go

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I:

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry.go

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,And the rocks melt wi' the sun:And I will love thee still, my dear,While the sands o' life shall run.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun:

And I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love,And fare thee weel a while!And I will come again, my love,Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

And fare thee weel, my only love,

And fare thee weel a while!

And I will come again, my love,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Of the songs already quoted, the germ ofAe Fond Kisslies in the first line of Robert Dodsley'sParting Kiss,

“One fond kiss before we part;”

I Hae a Wife o' My Ain, borrows with slight modification the first two lines; a model forMy Nannie Ohas been found in an anonymous eighteenth-century fragment as well as in a song of Ramsay's, but neither contributes more than the phrase which names the tune as well as the words;The Rigs o' Barleywas suggested by a verse of an old song:

O, corn rigs and rye rigs,O, corn rigs are bonie;And whene'er you meet a bonie lassPreen up her cockernonie.

O, corn rigs and rye rigs,

O, corn rigs are bonie;

And whene'er you meet a bonie lass

Preen up her cockernonie.

Handsome Nell,Mary Morison,Will Ye Go to the Indies,The Gloomy Night, andMy Nannie's Awaare entirely original; and a comparison of their poetical quality with those having theirmodel or starting point in an older song will show that, however brilliantly Burns acquitted himself in his task of refurbishing traditional material, he was in no way dependent upon such material for inspiration.

From what has been said of the occasions of these verses, however, it is clear that inspiration from the outside was not lacking. The traditional association of wine, woman, and song certainly held for Burns, nearly all his lyrics being the outcome of his devotion to at least two of these, some of them, like the following, to all three.

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,Last nightA place where body saw na';nobody sawYestreen lay on this breast o' mineThe gowden locks of Anna.goldenThe hungry Jew in wildernessRejoicing o'er his manna,Was naething to my hinny blisshoneyUpon the lips of Anna.Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,Frae Indus to Savannah!Gie me within my straining graspThe melting form of Anna.There I'll despise imperial charms,An Empress or Sultana,While dying raptures in her armsI give and take with Anna!Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!Awa, thou pale Diana!Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling rayEach, goWhen I'm to meet my Anna.Come, in thy raven plumage, night!(Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a')And bring an angel pen to writeMy transports wi' my Anna!(Postscript)The kirk and state may join, and tellTo do such things I mauna:must notThe kirk and state may gae to hell,And I'll gae to my Anna.She is the sunshine o' my ee,To live but her I canna;withoutHad I on earth but wishes three,The first should be my Anna.

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,Last night

A place where body saw na';nobody saw

Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine

The gowden locks of Anna.golden

The hungry Jew in wilderness

Rejoicing o'er his manna,

Was naething to my hinny blisshoney

Upon the lips of Anna.

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,Frae Indus to Savannah!Gie me within my straining graspThe melting form of Anna.There I'll despise imperial charms,An Empress or Sultana,While dying raptures in her armsI give and take with Anna!

Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,

Frae Indus to Savannah!

Gie me within my straining grasp

The melting form of Anna.

There I'll despise imperial charms,

An Empress or Sultana,

While dying raptures in her arms

I give and take with Anna!

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!Awa, thou pale Diana!Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling rayEach, goWhen I'm to meet my Anna.Come, in thy raven plumage, night!(Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a')And bring an angel pen to writeMy transports wi' my Anna!

Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!

Awa, thou pale Diana!

Ilk star, gae hide thy twinkling rayEach, go

When I'm to meet my Anna.

Come, in thy raven plumage, night!

(Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a')

And bring an angel pen to write

My transports wi' my Anna!

(Postscript)

The kirk and state may join, and tellTo do such things I mauna:must notThe kirk and state may gae to hell,And I'll gae to my Anna.She is the sunshine o' my ee,To live but her I canna;withoutHad I on earth but wishes three,The first should be my Anna.

The kirk and state may join, and tell

To do such things I mauna:must not

The kirk and state may gae to hell,

And I'll gae to my Anna.

She is the sunshine o' my ee,

To live but her I canna;without

Had I on earth but wishes three,

The first should be my Anna.

Nothing could be more hopeless than to attempt to classify Burns's songs according to the amours that occasioned them, and to seek to find a constant relation between the reality and intensity of the passion and the vitality of the poetry. At times some relation does seem apparent, as wemay discern beneath the vigor of the song just quoted a trace of a conscious attempt to brave his conscience in connection with the one proved infidelity to Jean after his marriage. Again, in such songs asOf a' the Airts,Poortith Cauld, and others addressed to Jean herself, we have an expression of his less than rapturous but entirely genuine affection for his wife.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,directionsI dearly like the west,For there the bonnie lassie lives,The lassie I lo'e best:loveThere wild woods grow, and rivers row,rollAnd mony a hill between;But day and night my fancy's flightIs ever wi' my Jean.I see her in the dewy flowers,I see her sweet and fair:I hear her in the tunefu' birds,I hear her charm the air:There's not a bonnie flower that springsBy fountain, shaw, or green;woodlandThere's not a bonnie bird that sings,But minds me o' my Jean.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,directions

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:love

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,roll

And mony a hill between;

But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,I see her sweet and fair:I hear her in the tunefu' birds,I hear her charm the air:There's not a bonnie flower that springsBy fountain, shaw, or green;woodlandThere's not a bonnie bird that sings,But minds me o' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair:

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green;woodland

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

O this is no my ain lassie,Fair tho' the lassie be;O weel ken I my ain lassie,Kind love is in her e'e.I see a form, I see a face,Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:It wants, to me, the witching grace,The kind love that's in her e'e.She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,And lang has had my heart in thrall;And aye it charms my very saul,soulThe kind love that's in her e'e.A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,slyTo steal a blink, by a' unseen;glanceBut gleg as light are lovers' e'en,nimble, eyesWhen kind love is in the e'e.It may escape the courtly sparks,It may escape the learnèd clerks;But weel the watching lover marksThe kind love that's in her e'e.

O this is no my ain lassie,Fair tho' the lassie be;O weel ken I my ain lassie,Kind love is in her e'e.

O this is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be;

O weel ken I my ain lassie,

Kind love is in her e'e.

I see a form, I see a face,Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:It wants, to me, the witching grace,The kind love that's in her e'e.

I see a form, I see a face,

Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:

It wants, to me, the witching grace,

The kind love that's in her e'e.

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,And lang has had my heart in thrall;And aye it charms my very saul,soulThe kind love that's in her e'e.

She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall,

And lang has had my heart in thrall;

And aye it charms my very saul,soul

The kind love that's in her e'e.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,slyTo steal a blink, by a' unseen;glanceBut gleg as light are lovers' e'en,nimble, eyesWhen kind love is in the e'e.

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean,sly

To steal a blink, by a' unseen;glance

But gleg as light are lovers' e'en,nimble, eyes

When kind love is in the e'e.

It may escape the courtly sparks,It may escape the learnèd clerks;But weel the watching lover marksThe kind love that's in her e'e.

It may escape the courtly sparks,

It may escape the learnèd clerks;

But weel the watching lover marks

The kind love that's in her e'e.

O poortith cauld, and restless love,cold povertyYe wreck my peace between ye;Yet poortith a' I could forgive,An' 'twere na for my Jeanie.If 'twere notO why should fate sic pleasure have,suchLife's dearest bands untwining?Or why sae sweet a flower as loveDepend on Fortune's shining?The warld's wealth when I think on,Its pride, and a' the lave o't,—restMy curse on silly coward man,That he should be the slave o't.Her een sae bonnie blue betrayHow she repays my passion;But prudence is her o'erword aye,refrainShe talks of rank and fashion.O wha can prudence think upon,And sic a lassie by him?O wha can prudence think upon,And sae in love as I am?How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate!He woos his artless dearie—The silly bogles, Wealth and State,goblinsCan never make him eerie.afraid

O poortith cauld, and restless love,cold povertyYe wreck my peace between ye;Yet poortith a' I could forgive,An' 'twere na for my Jeanie.If 'twere not

O poortith cauld, and restless love,cold poverty

Ye wreck my peace between ye;

Yet poortith a' I could forgive,

An' 'twere na for my Jeanie.If 'twere not

O why should fate sic pleasure have,suchLife's dearest bands untwining?Or why sae sweet a flower as loveDepend on Fortune's shining?

O why should fate sic pleasure have,such

Life's dearest bands untwining?

Or why sae sweet a flower as love

Depend on Fortune's shining?

The warld's wealth when I think on,Its pride, and a' the lave o't,—restMy curse on silly coward man,That he should be the slave o't.

The warld's wealth when I think on,

Its pride, and a' the lave o't,—rest

My curse on silly coward man,

That he should be the slave o't.

Her een sae bonnie blue betrayHow she repays my passion;But prudence is her o'erword aye,refrainShe talks of rank and fashion.

Her een sae bonnie blue betray

How she repays my passion;

But prudence is her o'erword aye,refrain

She talks of rank and fashion.

O wha can prudence think upon,And sic a lassie by him?O wha can prudence think upon,And sae in love as I am?

O wha can prudence think upon,

And sic a lassie by him?

O wha can prudence think upon,

And sae in love as I am?

How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate!He woos his artless dearie—The silly bogles, Wealth and State,goblinsCan never make him eerie.afraid

How blest the wild-wood Indian's fate!

He woos his artless dearie—

The silly bogles, Wealth and State,goblins

Can never make him eerie.afraid

She is a winsome wee thing,She is a handsome wee thing,She is a lo'esome wee thing,This sweet wee wife o' mine.I never saw a fairer,I never lo'ed a dearer,And neist my heart I'll wear her,nextFor fear my jewel tine.be lostThe warld's wrack, we share o't,The warstle and the care o't;struggleWi' her I'll blythely bear it,And think my lot divine.

She is a winsome wee thing,She is a handsome wee thing,She is a lo'esome wee thing,This sweet wee wife o' mine.

She is a winsome wee thing,

She is a handsome wee thing,

She is a lo'esome wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o' mine.

I never saw a fairer,I never lo'ed a dearer,And neist my heart I'll wear her,nextFor fear my jewel tine.be lost

I never saw a fairer,

I never lo'ed a dearer,

And neist my heart I'll wear her,next

For fear my jewel tine.be lost

The warld's wrack, we share o't,The warstle and the care o't;struggleWi' her I'll blythely bear it,And think my lot divine.

The warld's wrack, we share o't,

The warstle and the care o't;struggle

Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,

And think my lot divine.

Similarly, most of the lyrics addressed to Clarinda in Edinburgh are marked by the sentimentalism and affectation of an affair that engaged only one side, and that among the least pleasing, of the many-sided temperament of the poet.

But, in general, with Burns as with other poets, it was not the catching of a first-hand emotion at white heat that resulted in the best poetry, but the stimulating of his imagination by the vision of a person or a situation that may have had but the hint of a prototype in the actual. We have already noted that the best of the Clarinda poems were written in absence, and that they drop the Arcadian names which typified the make-believe element in that complex affair. So a number of his most charming songs are addressed to girls of whom he had had but a glimpse. But thatglimpse sufficed to kindle him, and for the poetry it was all advantage that it was no more.

His relations with women were extremely varied in nature. At one extreme there were friendships like that with Mrs. Dunlop, the letters to whom show that their common interests were mainly moral and intellectual, and were mingled with no emotion more fiery than gratitude. At the other extreme stand relations like that with Anne Park, the heroine ofYestreen I had a Pint o' Wine, which were purely passionate and transitory. Between these come a long procession affording excellent material for the ingenuity of those skilled in the casuistry of the sexes: the boyish flame for Handsome Nell; the slightly more mature feeling for Ellison Begbie; the various phases of his passion for Jean Armour; the perhaps partly factitious reverence for Highland Mary; the respectful adoration for Margaret Chalmers to whom he is supposed to have proposed marriage in Edinburgh; the deliberate posing in his compliments to Chloris (Jean Lorimer); the grateful gallantry to Jessie Lewars, who ministered to him on his deathbed.

In the later days in Dumfries, when his vitality was running low and he was laboring to supplyThomson with verses even when the spontaneous impulse to compose was rare, we find him theorizing on the necessity of enthroning a goddess for the nonce. Speaking ofCraigieburn-woodand Jean Lorimer, he writes to his prosaic editor:

“The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland; and in fact (entre nous) is in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him—a Mistress, or Friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't put any of your squinting constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaver about it among our acquaintances.) I assure you that to my lovely Friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober gin-horse routine of existence could inspire a man with life, and love, and joy—could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your Book? No, no!!! Whenever I want to be more than ordinaryin song; to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs, do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation?Tout au contraire!I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the Divinity of Healing and Poesywhen erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon!”

Burns is here, of course, on his rhetorical high horse, and the songs to Chloris hardly bear him out; but there is much in the passage to enlighten us as to his composing processes. In his younger days his hot blood welcomed every occasion of emotional experience; toward the end, he sought such occasions for the sake of the patriotic task that lightened with its idealism the gathering gloom of his breakdown. But throughout, and this is the important point to note in relating his poetry to his life, his one mode of complimentary address to a woman was in terms of gallantry.

The following group of love songs illustrate the various phases of his temperament which we have been discussing. The first two are to Mary Campbell, and exhibit Burns in his most reverential attitude toward women:

Ye banks, and braes, and streams aroundThe castle o' Montgomery,Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,Your waters never drumlie!muddyThere Simmer first unfauld her robes,may S. f. unfoldAnd there the langest tarry;For there I took the last fareweelO' my sweet Highland Mary.How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,birchHow rich the hawthorn's blossom,As underneath their fragrant shadeI clasp'd her to my bosom!The golden hours on angel wingsFlew o'er me and my dearie;For dear to me as light and lifeWas my sweet Highland Mary.Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embraceOur parting was fu' tender;And, pledging aft to meet again,We tore oursels asunder;But oh! fell death's untimely frost,That nipt my flower sae early!Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,coldThat wraps my Highland Mary!O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!And closed for aye the sparkling glance,That dwelt on me sae kindly!And mould'ring now in silent dust,That heart that lo'ed me dearly!lovedBut still within my bosom's coreShall live my Highland Mary.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!muddy

There Simmer first unfauld her robes,may S. f. unfold

And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,birchHow rich the hawthorn's blossom,As underneath their fragrant shadeI clasp'd her to my bosom!The golden hours on angel wingsFlew o'er me and my dearie;For dear to me as light and lifeWas my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,birch

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasp'd her to my bosom!

The golden hours on angel wings

Flew o'er me and my dearie;

For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embraceOur parting was fu' tender;And, pledging aft to meet again,We tore oursels asunder;But oh! fell death's untimely frost,That nipt my flower sae early!Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,coldThat wraps my Highland Mary!

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace

Our parting was fu' tender;

And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;

But oh! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,cold

That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!And closed for aye the sparkling glance,That dwelt on me sae kindly!And mould'ring now in silent dust,That heart that lo'ed me dearly!lovedBut still within my bosom's coreShall live my Highland Mary.

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance,

That dwelt on me sae kindly!

And mould'ring now in silent dust,

That heart that lo'ed me dearly!loved

But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary.

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,That lov'st to greet the early morn,Again thou usherest in the dayMy Mary from my soul was torn.O Mary! dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?That sacred hour can I forget?Can I forget the hallow'd grove,Where by the winding Ayr we met,To live one day of parting love?Eternity will not effaceThose records dear of transports past;Thy image at our last embrace—Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,Till too, too soon, the glowing westProclaim'd the speed of wingèd day.Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,And fondly broods with miser care!Time but the impression stronger makes,As streams their channels deeper wear.My Mary, dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usherest in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget?Can I forget the hallow'd grove,Where by the winding Ayr we met,To live one day of parting love?Eternity will not effaceThose records dear of transports past;Thy image at our last embrace—Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

That sacred hour can I forget?

Can I forget the hallow'd grove,

Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love?

Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past;

Thy image at our last embrace—

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,Till too, too soon, the glowing westProclaim'd the speed of wingèd day.

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,

Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of wingèd day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,And fondly broods with miser care!Time but the impression stronger makes,As streams their channels deeper wear.My Mary, dear departed shade!Where is thy place of blissful rest?Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care!

Time but the impression stronger makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear.

My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

The group that follow are addressed either to unknown divinities or to girls who inspired only a passing devotion. In the case ofBonnie Lesley, there was no question of a love-affair: the song is merely a compliment to a young lady he met and admired.Auld Rob Morrisis probably purely dramatic.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,ewes, knollsCa' them where the heather grows,Ca' them where the burnie rows,brooklet rollsMy bonnie dearie.Hark! the mavis' evening sangthrush'sSounding Clouden's woods amang;Then a-faulding let us gang,a-folding, goMy bonnie dearie.We'll gae down by Clouden side,goThro' the hazels, spreading wideO'er the waves that sweetly glideTo the moon sae clearly.Yonder Clouden's silent towers,Where at moonshine's midnight hours,O'er the dewy bending flowers,Fairies dance sae cheery.Ghaist nor bogle shall thou fear;Ghost, goblinThou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,Nocht of ill may come thee near,NoughtMy bonnie dearie.Fair and lovely as thou art,Thou hast stown my very heart;stolenI can die—but canna part,My bonnie dearie.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,ewes, knollsCa' them where the heather grows,Ca' them where the burnie rows,brooklet rollsMy bonnie dearie.

Ca' the yowes to the knowes,ewes, knolls

Ca' them where the heather grows,

Ca' them where the burnie rows,brooklet rolls

My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis' evening sangthrush'sSounding Clouden's woods amang;Then a-faulding let us gang,a-folding, goMy bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis' evening sangthrush's

Sounding Clouden's woods amang;

Then a-faulding let us gang,a-folding, go

My bonnie dearie.

We'll gae down by Clouden side,goThro' the hazels, spreading wideO'er the waves that sweetly glideTo the moon sae clearly.

We'll gae down by Clouden side,go

Thro' the hazels, spreading wide

O'er the waves that sweetly glide

To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,Where at moonshine's midnight hours,O'er the dewy bending flowers,Fairies dance sae cheery.

Yonder Clouden's silent towers,

Where at moonshine's midnight hours,

O'er the dewy bending flowers,

Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shall thou fear;Ghost, goblinThou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,Nocht of ill may come thee near,NoughtMy bonnie dearie.

Ghaist nor bogle shall thou fear;Ghost, goblin

Thou'rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,

Nocht of ill may come thee near,Nought

My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,Thou hast stown my very heart;stolenI can die—but canna part,My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,

Thou hast stown my very heart;stolen

I can die—but canna part,

My bonnie dearie.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;There daily I wander as noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.birchThy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,

I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;There daily I wander as noon rises high,My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,

Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;

There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.birch

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;

There oft as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.birch

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,

And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;

How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,went, road last nightA gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;I gat my death frae twa sweet een,got, eyesTwa lovely een o' bonnie blue.'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,wetHer heaving bosom lily-white;It was her een sae bonnie blue.She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,beguiledShe charm'd my soul I wist na how;And aye the stound, the deadly wound,pangCame frae her een sae bonnie blue.fromBut ‘spare to speak, and spare to speed’—She'll aiblins listen to my vow:perhapsShould she refuse, I'll lay my deaddeathTo her twa een sae bonnie blue.

I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen,went, road last night

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue;

I gat my death frae twa sweet een,got, eyes

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright,

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew,wet

Her heaving bosom lily-white;

It was her een sae bonnie blue.

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,beguiledShe charm'd my soul I wist na how;And aye the stound, the deadly wound,pangCame frae her een sae bonnie blue.fromBut ‘spare to speak, and spare to speed’—She'll aiblins listen to my vow:perhapsShould she refuse, I'll lay my deaddeathTo her twa een sae bonnie blue.

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd,beguiled

She charm'd my soul I wist na how;

And aye the stound, the deadly wound,pang

Came frae her een sae bonnie blue.from

But ‘spare to speak, and spare to speed’—

She'll aiblins listen to my vow:perhaps

Should she refuse, I'll lay my deaddeath

To her twa een sae bonnie blue.

O saw ye bonnie LesleyAs she gaed o'er the border?wentShe's gane, like Alexander,To spread her conquests farther.To see her is to love her,And love but her for ever;For Nature made her what she is,And never made anither!Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,Thy subjects, we before thee:Thou art divine, fair Lesley,The hearts o' men adore thee.The Deil he could na scaith thee,harmOr aught that wad belang thee;He'd look into thy bonnie face,And say, ‘I canna wrang thee.’The Powers aboon will tent thee;above, guardMisfortune sha'na steer thee;shall not disturbThou'rt like themselves sae lovely,That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.Return again, fair Lesley,Return to Caledonie!That we may brag we hae a lassThere's nane again sae bonnie.no other

O saw ye bonnie LesleyAs she gaed o'er the border?wentShe's gane, like Alexander,To spread her conquests farther.

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border?went

She's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,And love but her for ever;For Nature made her what she is,And never made anither!

To see her is to love her,

And love but her for ever;

For Nature made her what she is,

And never made anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,Thy subjects, we before thee:Thou art divine, fair Lesley,The hearts o' men adore thee.

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,

Thy subjects, we before thee:

Thou art divine, fair Lesley,

The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,harmOr aught that wad belang thee;He'd look into thy bonnie face,And say, ‘I canna wrang thee.’

The Deil he could na scaith thee,harm

Or aught that wad belang thee;

He'd look into thy bonnie face,

And say, ‘I canna wrang thee.’

The Powers aboon will tent thee;above, guardMisfortune sha'na steer thee;shall not disturbThou'rt like themselves sae lovely,That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

The Powers aboon will tent thee;above, guard

Misfortune sha'na steer thee;shall not disturb

Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,Return to Caledonie!That we may brag we hae a lassThere's nane again sae bonnie.no other

Return again, fair Lesley,

Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a lass

There's nane again sae bonnie.no other

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,flaxenBonnie lassie, artless lassie,Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?watchWilt thou be my dearie, O?Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,clothesAnd a' is young and sweet like thee;O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,And say thou'lt be my dearie, O.The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,windingThe cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,The wanton lambs at early mornShall welcome thee, my dearie, O.And when the welcome simmer-showerHas cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,everyWe'll to the breathing woodbine bowerAt sultry noon, my dearie, O.When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,The weary shearer's hameward way.reaper'sThro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,And talk o' love, my dearie, O.And when the howling wintry blastDisturbs my lassie's midnight rest;Enclaspèd to my faithfu' breast,I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,flaxenBonnie lassie, artless lassie,Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?watchWilt thou be my dearie, O?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,flaxen

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,

Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?watch

Wilt thou be my dearie, O?

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,clothesAnd a' is young and sweet like thee;O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,And say thou'lt be my dearie, O.

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,clothes

And a' is young and sweet like thee;

O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,

And say thou'lt be my dearie, O.

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,windingThe cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,The wanton lambs at early mornShall welcome thee, my dearie, O.

The primrose bank, the wimpling burn,winding

The cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,

The wanton lambs at early morn

Shall welcome thee, my dearie, O.

And when the welcome simmer-showerHas cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,everyWe'll to the breathing woodbine bowerAt sultry noon, my dearie, O.

And when the welcome simmer-shower

Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,every

We'll to the breathing woodbine bower

At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,The weary shearer's hameward way.reaper'sThro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,And talk o' love, my dearie, O.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,

The weary shearer's hameward way.reaper's

Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,

And talk o' love, my dearie, O.

And when the howling wintry blastDisturbs my lassie's midnight rest;Enclaspèd to my faithfu' breast,I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

And when the howling wintry blast

Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;

Enclaspèd to my faithfu' breast,

I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

Altho' my bed were in yon muir,Amang the heather, in my plaidie,Yet happy, happy would I be,Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.When o'er the hill beat surly storms,And winter nights were dark and rainy,I'd seek some dell, and in my armsI'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.Were I a Baron proud and high,And horse and servants waiting ready,Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me,it would giveThe sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy.

Altho' my bed were in yon muir,Amang the heather, in my plaidie,Yet happy, happy would I be,Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

Altho' my bed were in yon muir,

Amang the heather, in my plaidie,

Yet happy, happy would I be,

Had I my dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,And winter nights were dark and rainy,I'd seek some dell, and in my armsI'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,

And winter nights were dark and rainy,

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms

I'd shelter dear Montgomerie's Peggy.

Were I a Baron proud and high,And horse and servants waiting ready,Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me,it would giveThe sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy.

Were I a Baron proud and high,

And horse and servants waiting ready,

Then a' 't wad gie o' joy to me,it would give

The sharin't wi' Montgomerie's Peggy.

When o'er the hill the eastern starTells bughtin-time is near, my jo;folding-And owsen frae the furrow'd fieldoxenReturn sae dowf and wearie O;dullDown by the burn, where scented birksWi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,sweetheartI'll meet thee on the lea-rig,grassy ridgeMy ain kind dearie O.ownIn mirkest glen, at midnight hour,darkestI'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,scaredIf thro' that glen I gaed to thee,wentMy ain kind dearie O.Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,And I were ne'er sae wearie O,I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie O.The hunter lo'es the morning sun,lovesTo rouse the mountain deer, my jo;At noon the fisher takes the glen,Along the burn to steer, my jo;Gie me the hour o' gloamin greytwilightIt maks my heart sae cheery O,To meet thee on the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie O.

When o'er the hill the eastern star

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;folding-

And owsen frae the furrow'd fieldoxen

Return sae dowf and wearie O;dull

Down by the burn, where scented birks

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo,sweetheart

I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,grassy ridge

My ain kind dearie O.own

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,darkestI'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,scaredIf thro' that glen I gaed to thee,wentMy ain kind dearie O.Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,And I were ne'er sae wearie O,I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie O.

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,darkest

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie O,scared

If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,went

My ain kind dearie O.

Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,

And I were ne'er sae wearie O,

I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,lovesTo rouse the mountain deer, my jo;At noon the fisher takes the glen,Along the burn to steer, my jo;Gie me the hour o' gloamin greytwilightIt maks my heart sae cheery O,To meet thee on the lea-rig,My ain kind dearie O.

The hunter lo'es the morning sun,loves

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;

At noon the fisher takes the glen,

Along the burn to steer, my jo;

Gie me the hour o' gloamin greytwilight

It maks my heart sae cheery O,

To meet thee on the lea-rig,

My ain kind dearie O.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,dwellsHe's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men;pickHe has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,gold, oxenAnd ae bonnie lassie, his dautie and mine.one, darlingShe's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;gardenA wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,must notThe wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.deathThe day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist,alone, ghostAnd I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.O had she but been of a lower degree,I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me;O how past descriving had then been my bliss,describingAs now my distraction no words can express!

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,dwells

He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men;pick

He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,gold, oxen

And ae bonnie lassie, his dautie and mine.one, darling

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;

She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay;

As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,

And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;gardenA wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,must notThe wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.death

But oh! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird,

And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;garden

A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,must not

The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.death

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist,alone, ghostAnd I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;

The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane;

I wander my lane, like a night-troubled ghaist,alone, ghost

And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

O had she but been of a lower degree,I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me;O how past descriving had then been my bliss,describingAs now my distraction no words can express!

O had she but been of a lower degree,

I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me;

O how past descriving had then been my bliss,describing

As now my distraction no words can express!

O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast, besides being one of the most exquisite of his songs, has a pathetic interest from the circumstances under which it was composed. During the last few months of his life, a young girl called Jessie Lewars, sister of one of his colleagues in the excise, came much to his house and was of great service to Mrs. Burns and him in his last illness. One day he offered to write new verses to any tune she might play him. She sat down and played over several times the melody of an old song, beginning,

The robin came to the wren's nest,And keekit in, and keekit in.

The robin came to the wren's nest,

And keekit in, and keekit in.

The following lines were the characteristic result:

O, wert thou in the cauld blast,coldOn yonder lea, on yonder lea,My plaidie to the angry airt,directionI'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee,Or did misfortune's bitter stormsAround thee blaw, around thee blaw,Thy bield should be my bosom,shelterTo share it a', to share it a'.Or were I in the wildest waste,Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,The desert were a paradise,If thou wert there, if thou wert there.Or were I monarch o' the globe,Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,The brightest jewel in my crownWad be my queen, wad be my queen.

O, wert thou in the cauld blast,cold

On yonder lea, on yonder lea,

My plaidie to the angry airt,direction

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee,

Or did misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,

Thy bield should be my bosom,shelter

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,The desert were a paradise,If thou wert there, if thou wert there.Or were I monarch o' the globe,Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,The brightest jewel in my crownWad be my queen, wad be my queen.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare,

The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there.

Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,

The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.

This group may well close with his great hymn of general allegiance to the sex.

Green grow the rashes, O,Green grow the rashes, O;The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,Are spent amang the lasses, O!There's nought but care on ev'ry han',In ev'ry hour that passes, O;What signifies the life o' man,An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.The warly race may riches chase,worldlyAn' riches still may fly them, O;An' tho' at last they catch them fast,Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.But gie me a canny hour at e'en,quietMy arms about my dearie, O;An' warly cares, an' warly men,May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!upside-downFor you sae douce, ye sneer at this,sedateYe're nought but senseless asses, O:The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.Auld Nature swears, the lovely dearsHer noblest work she classes, O;Her prentice han' she tried on man,An' then she made the lasses, O.

Green grow the rashes, O,Green grow the rashes, O;The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,Are spent amang the lasses, O!

Green grow the rashes, O,

Green grow the rashes, O;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,

Are spent amang the lasses, O!

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',In ev'ry hour that passes, O;What signifies the life o' man,An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',

In ev'ry hour that passes, O;

What signifies the life o' man,

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.

The warly race may riches chase,worldlyAn' riches still may fly them, O;An' tho' at last they catch them fast,Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

The warly race may riches chase,worldly

An' riches still may fly them, O;

An' tho' at last they catch them fast,

Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,quietMy arms about my dearie, O;An' warly cares, an' warly men,May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!upside-down

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,quiet

My arms about my dearie, O;

An' warly cares, an' warly men,

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!upside-down

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,sedateYe're nought but senseless asses, O:The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,sedate

Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dearsHer noblest work she classes, O;Her prentice han' she tried on man,An' then she made the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears

Her noblest work she classes, O;

Her prentice han' she tried on man,

An' then she made the lasses, O.

Equally personal, but not connected with love, are a few autobiographical poems of which the following are typical. The third of these, though prosaic enough, is interesting as perhaps Burns's most elaborate summing up of the philosophy of his own career.

There was a lad was born in Kyle,But whatna day o' whatna stylewhatI doubt it's hardly worth the whileTo be sae nice wi' Robin.Robin was a rovin' boy,roysteringRantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';Robin was a rovin' boy,Rantin' rovin' Robin.Our monarch's hindmost year but aneoneWas five-and-twenty days begun,'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'Blew hansel in on Robin.his first giftThe gossip keekit in his loof,peeped, palmQuo' scho, ‘Wha lives will see the proof,Quoth sheThis waly boy will be nae coof,choice, doltI think we'll ca' him Robin.call‘He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma',But aye a heart aboon them a';aboveHe'll be a credit till us a',toWe'll a' be proud o' Robin.‘But sure as three times three mak nine,I see by ilka score and line,eachThis chap will dearly like our kin',sexSo leeze me on thee, Robin.blessing on‘Guid faith,’ quo' scho, ‘I doubt you, stir,sirYe gar the lasses lie aspar,make, aspreadBut twenty fauts ye may hae waur,faults, worseSo blessings on thee, Robin!’

There was a lad was born in Kyle,But whatna day o' whatna stylewhatI doubt it's hardly worth the whileTo be sae nice wi' Robin.

There was a lad was born in Kyle,

But whatna day o' whatna stylewhat

I doubt it's hardly worth the while

To be sae nice wi' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,roysteringRantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';Robin was a rovin' boy,Rantin' rovin' Robin.

Robin was a rovin' boy,roystering

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin';

Robin was a rovin' boy,

Rantin' rovin' Robin.

Our monarch's hindmost year but aneoneWas five-and-twenty days begun,'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'Blew hansel in on Robin.his first gift

Our monarch's hindmost year but aneone

Was five-and-twenty days begun,

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win'

Blew hansel in on Robin.his first gift

The gossip keekit in his loof,peeped, palmQuo' scho, ‘Wha lives will see the proof,Quoth sheThis waly boy will be nae coof,choice, doltI think we'll ca' him Robin.call

The gossip keekit in his loof,peeped, palm

Quo' scho, ‘Wha lives will see the proof,Quoth she

This waly boy will be nae coof,choice, dolt

I think we'll ca' him Robin.call

‘He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma',But aye a heart aboon them a';aboveHe'll be a credit till us a',toWe'll a' be proud o' Robin.

‘He'll hae misfortunes great an' sma',

But aye a heart aboon them a';above

He'll be a credit till us a',to

We'll a' be proud o' Robin.

‘But sure as three times three mak nine,I see by ilka score and line,eachThis chap will dearly like our kin',sexSo leeze me on thee, Robin.blessing on

‘But sure as three times three mak nine,

I see by ilka score and line,each

This chap will dearly like our kin',sex

So leeze me on thee, Robin.blessing on

‘Guid faith,’ quo' scho, ‘I doubt you, stir,sirYe gar the lasses lie aspar,make, aspreadBut twenty fauts ye may hae waur,faults, worseSo blessings on thee, Robin!’

‘Guid faith,’ quo' scho, ‘I doubt you, stir,sir

Ye gar the lasses lie aspar,make, aspread

But twenty fauts ye may hae waur,faults, worse

So blessings on thee, Robin!’

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,cheerfulWhene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,meetI gie them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang,spankWi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang.bowl of good aleI whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;sometimesBut man is a soger, and life is a faught:soldier, fightMy mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,pocketAnd my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch.dareA towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',twelvemonth, lotA night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a';soldersWhen at the blythe end of our journey at last,Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?Who the devilBlind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way,stumble, staggerBe't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae:Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,My warst word is—‘Welcome, and welcome again!’

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,cheerful

Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,meet

I gie them a skelp, as they're creepin' alang,spank

Wi' a cog o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang.bowl of good ale

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;sometimesBut man is a soger, and life is a faught:soldier, fightMy mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,pocketAnd my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch.dare

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;sometimes

But man is a soger, and life is a faught:soldier, fight

My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,pocket

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch daur touch.dare

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',twelvemonth, lotA night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a';soldersWhen at the blythe end of our journey at last,Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?Who the devil

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',twelvemonth, lot

A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a';solders

When at the blythe end of our journey at last,

Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?Who the devil

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way,stumble, staggerBe't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae:Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,My warst word is—‘Welcome, and welcome again!’

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way,stumble, stagger

Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jad gae:

Come ease or come travail, come pleasure or pain,

My warst word is—‘Welcome, and welcome again!’

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