XCVI.

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,And O, to be lying beyond thee;O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleepThat’s laid in the bed beyond thee!

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood,And blithely awaukens the morrow;But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-woodCan yield to me nothing but sorrow.

II.

I see the spreading leaves and flowers,I hear the wild birds singing;But pleasure they hae nane for me,While care my heart is wringing.

III.

I canna tell, I maunna tell,I darena for your anger;But secret love will break my heart,If I conceal it langer.

IV.

I see thee gracefu’, straight, and tall,I see thee sweet and bonnie;But oh! what will my torments be,If thou refuse thy Johnnie!

To see thee in anither’s arms,In love to lie and languish,’Twad be my dead, that will be seen,My heart wad burst wi’ anguish.

VI.

But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine,Say, thou lo’es nane before me;And a’ my days o’ life to comeI’ll gratefully adore thee.Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,And O, to be lying beyond thee;O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleepThat’s laid in the bed beyond thee!

Tune—“Cock up your beaver.”

[“Printed,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “in the Musical Museum, but not with Burns’s name.” It is an old song, eked out and amended by the poet: all the last verse, save the last line, is his; several of the lines too of the first verse, have felt his amending hand: he communicated it to the Museum.]

When first my brave Johnnie ladCame to this town,He had a blue bonnetThat wanted the crown;But now he has gottenA hat and a feather,—Hey, brave Johnnie lad,Cock up your beaver!

II.

Cock up your beaver,And cock it fu’ sprush,We’ll over the borderAnd gie them a brush;There’s somebody thereWe’ll teach better behaviour—Hey, brave Johnnie lad,Cock up your beaver!

Tune—“My tocher’s the jewel.”

[These verses were written by Burns for the Museum, to an air by Oswald: but he wished them to be sung to a tune called “Lord Elcho’s favourite,” of which he was an admirer.]

O Meikle thinks my luve o’ my beauty,And meikle thinks my luve o’ my kin;But little thinks my luve I ken brawlieMy tocher’s the jewel has charms for him.It’s a’ for the apple he’ll nourish the tree;It’s a’ for the hiney he’ll cherish the bee;My laddie’s sae meikle in luve wi’ the siller,He canna hae lure to spare for me.

II.

Your proffer o’ luve’s an airl-penny,My tocher’s the bargain ye wad buy;But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin’,Sae ye wi’ anither your fortune maun try.Ye’re like to the timmer o’ yon rotten tree,Ye’ll slip frae me like a knotless thread,And ye’ll crack your credit wi’ mae nor me.

Tune—“Gudewife count the lawin.”

[The air as well as words of this song were furnished to the Museum by Burns. “The chorus,” he says, “is part of an old song.”]

Gane is the day, and mirk’s the night,But we’ll ne’er stray for fau’t o’ light,For ale and brandy’s stars and moon,And blude-red wine’s the rising sun.Then gudewife count the lawin,The lawin, the lawin;Then gudewife count the lawin,And bring a coggie mair!

II.

There’s wealth and ease for gentlemen,And simple folk maun fight and fen;But here we’re a’ in ae accord,For ilka man that’s drunk’s a lord.

III.

My coggie is a haly pool,That heals the wounds o’ care and dool;And pleasure is a wanton trout,An’ ye drink but deep ye’ll find him out.Then gudewife count the lawin;The lawin, the lawin,Then gudewife count the lawin,And bring a coggie mair!

Tune—“There art few gude fellows when Willie’s awa.”

[The bard was in one of his Jacobitical moods when he wrote this song. The air is a well known one, called “There’s few gude fellows when Willie’s awa.” But of the words none, it is supposed, are preserved.]

By yon castle wa’, at the close of the day,I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray;And as he was singing the tears down came,There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.The church is in ruins, the state is in jars;Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars:We darena weel say’t, though we ken wha’s to blame,There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!

II.

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd.It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu’ auld dame—There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.Now life is a burthen that bows me down,Since I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;But till my last moments my words are the same—There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame!

Tune—“The bonnie lad that’s far awa.”

[This lamentation was written, it is said, in allusion to the sufferings of Jean Armour, when her correspondence with Burns was discovered by her family.]

O how can I be blythe and glad,Or how can I gang brisk and braw,When the bonnie lad that I lo’e bestIs o’er the hills and far awa?When the bonnie lad that I lo’e bestIs o’er the hills and far awa.

II.

It’s no the frosty winter wind,It’s no the driving drift and snaw;But ay the tear comes in my e’e,To think on him that’s far awa.But ay the tear comes in my e’e,To think on him that’s far awa.

III.

My father pat me frae his door,My friends they line disown’d me a’,But I hae ane will tak’ my part,The bonnie lad that’s far awa.But I hae ane will tak’ my part,The bonnie lad that’s far awa.

IV.

A pair o’ gloves he gae to me,And silken snoods he gae me twa;And I will wear them for his sake,The bonnie lad that’s far awa.And I will wear them for his sake,The bonnie lad that’s far awa.

O weary Winter soon will pass,And spring will cleed the birken shaw;And my young babie will be born,And he’ll be hame that’s far awa.And my young babie will be born,And he’ll be hame that’s far awa.

Tune—“I do confess thou art sae fair.”

[“I do think,” says Burns, in allusion to this song, “that I have improved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving them a Scottish dress.” The original song is of great elegance and beauty: it was written by Sir Robert Aytoun, secretary to Anne of Denmark, Queen of James I.]

I do confess thou art sae fair,I wad been o’er the lugs in love,Had I na found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak thy heart could muve.I do confess thee sweet, but findThou art sae thriftless o’ thy sweets,Thy favours are the silly wind,That kisses ilka thing it meets.

II.

See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew,Amang its native briers sae coy;How sune it tines its scent and hueWhen pou’d and worn a common toy!Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide,Tho’ thou may gaily bloom awhile;Yet sune thou shalt be thrown asideLike ony common weed and vile.

Tune—“Yon wild mossy mountains.”

[“This song alludes to a part of my private history, which is of no consequence to the world to know.” These are the words of Burns: he sent the song to the Musical Museum; the heroine is supposed to be the “Nannie,” who dwelt near the Lugar.]

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide,That nurse in their bosom the youth o’ the Clyde,Where the grouse lead their coveys thro’ the heather to feed,And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.Where the grouse lead their coveys thro’ the heather to feed,And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed.

II.

Not Gowrie’s rich valleys, nor Forth’s sunny shores,To me hae the charms o’ yon wild, mossy moors;For there, by a lanely and sequester’d stream,Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.For there, by a lanely and sequester’d stream,Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.

III.

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path,Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath;For there, wi’ my lassie, the day lang I rove,While o’er us unheeded flee the swift hours o’ love.For there wi’ my lassie, the day lang I rove,While o’er us unheeded flee the swift hours o’ love.

IV.

She is not the fairest, altho’ she is fair;O’ nice education but sma’ is her share;Her parentage humble as humble can be;But I lo’e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.Her parentage humble as humble can be;But I lo’e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize,In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?And when wit and refinement hae polish’d her darts,They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts.And when wit and refinement hae polish’d her darts,They dazzle our een, as they flee to our hearts.

VI.

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e’e,Has lustre outshining the diamond to me:And the heart beating love as I’m clasp’d in her arms,O, these are my lassie’s all-conquering charms!And the heart beating love as I’m clasp’d in her arms,O, these are my lassie’s all-conquering charms!

Tune—“The Maid’s Complaint.”

[Burns found this song in English attire, bestowed a Scottish dress upon it, and published it in the Museum, together with the air by Oswald, which is one of his best.]

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face,Nor shape that I admire,Altho’ thy beauty and thy graceMight weel awake desire.Something in ilka part o’ thee,To praise, to love, I find;But dear as is thy form to me,Still dearer is thy mind.

II.

Nae mair ungen’rous wish I hae,Nor stronger in my breast,Than, if I canna mak thee sae,at least to see thee blest.Content am I, if heaven shall giveBut happiness to thee:And as wi’ thee I’d wish to live,For thee I’d bear to die.

[These verses were in latter years expanded by Burns into a song, for the collection of Thomson: the song will be found in its place: the variations are worthy of preservation.]

When I think on the happy daysI spent wi’ you, my dearie;And now what lands between us lie,How can I be but eerie!

II.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,As ye were wae and weary!It was na sae ye glinted by,When I was wi’ my dearie.

[This presents another version of song LXV. Variations are to a poet what changes are in the thoughts of a painter, and speak of fertility of sentiment in both.]

Whan I sleep I dream,Whan I wauk I’m eerie,Sleep I canna get,For thinkin’ o’ my dearie.

II.

Lanely night comes on,A’ the house are sleeping,I think on the bonnie ladThat has my heart a keeping.Ay waukin O, waukin ay and wearie,Sleep I canna get, for thinkin’ o’ my dearie.

III.

Lanely nights come on,A’ the house are sleeping,I think on my bonnie lad,An’ I blear my een wi’ greetin’!Ay waukin, &c.

[These verses are to be found in a volume which may be alluded to without being named, in which many of Burns’s strains, some looser than these, are to be found.]

I murder hate by field or flood,Tho’ glory’s name may screen us:In wars at hame I’ll spend my blood,Life-giving wars of Venus.

II.

The deities that I adoreAre social Peace and Plenty,I’m better pleas’d to make one more,Than be the death of twenty.

[These verses are in the museum; the first two are old, the concluding one is by Burns.]

O gude ale comes, and gude ale goes,Gude ale gars me sell my hose,Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon,Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.

II.

I had sax owsen in a pleugh,They drew a’ weel eneugh,I sell’d them a’ just ane by ane;Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.

III.

Gude ale hands me bare and busy,Gars me moop wi’ the servant hizzie,Stand i’ the stool when I hae done,Gude ale keeps my heart aboon.O gude ale comes, &c.

[This is an old chaunt, out of which Burns brushed some loose expressions, added the third and fourth verses, and sent it to the Museum.]

Robin shure in hairst,I shure wi’ him,Fient a heuk had I,Yet I stack by him.

II.

I gaed up to Dunse,To warp a wab o’ plaiden,At his daddie’s yett,Wha met me but Robin.

III.

Was na Robin bauld,Tho’ I was a cotter,Play’d me sic a trick,And me the eller’s dochter?Robin share in hairst, &c.

IV.

Robin promis’d meA’ my winter vittle;Fient haet he had but threeGoose feathers and a whittle.Robin share in hairst, &c.

[A fourth verse makes the moon a witness to the endearments of these lovers; but that planet sees more indiscreet matters than it is right to describe.]

As I came in by our gate end,As day was waxin’ weary,O wha came tripping down the street,But Bonnie Peg my dearie!

II.

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete,Wi’ nae proportion wanting;The Queen of Love did never moveWi’ motion mair enchanting.

III.

Wi’ linked hands, we took the sandsA-down yon winding river;And, oh! that hour and broomy bower,Can I forget it ever?

[This song in other days was a controversial one, and continued some sarcastic allusions to Mother Rome and her brood of seven sacraments, five of whom were illegitimate. Burns changed the meaning, and published his altered version in the Museum.]

Gudeen to you, Kimmer,And how do ye do?Hiccup, quo’ Kimmer,The better that I’m fou.We’re a’ noddin, nid nid noddin,We’re a’ noddin, at our house at hame.

II.

Kate sits i’ the neuk,Suppin hen broo;Deil tak KateAn’ she be na noddin too!We’re a’ noddin, &c.

III.

How’s a’ wi’ you, Kimmer,And how do ye fare?A pint o’ the best o’t,And twa pints mair.We’re a’ noddin, &c.

IV.

How’s a’ wi’ you, Kimmer,And how do ye thrive;How many bairns hae ye?Quo’ Kimmer, I hae five.We’re a’ noddin, &c.

Are they a’ Johnie’s?Eh! atweel no:Twa o’ them were gottenWhen Johnie was awa.We’re a noddin, &c.

VI.

Cats like milk,And dogs like broo;Lads like lasses weel,And lasses lads too.We’re a’ noddin, &c.

Tune—“Major Graham.”

[Sir Harris Nicolas found these lines on Chloris among the papers of Burns, and printed them in his late edition of the poet’s works.]

Ah, Chloris, since it may na be,That thou of love wilt hear;If from the lover thou maun flee,Yet let the friend be dear.

II.

Altho’ I love my Chloris mairThan ever tongue could tell;My passion I will ne’er declare,I’ll say, I wish thee well.

III.

Tho’ a’ my daily care thou art,And a’ my nightly dream,I’ll hide the struggle in my heart,And say it is esteem.

Tune—“Eppie Macnab.”

[“Published in the Museum,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “without any name.” Burns corrected some lines in the old song, which had more wit, he said, than decency, and added others, and sent his amended version to Johnson.]

O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M’Nab?O saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M’Nab?She’s down in the yard, she’s kissin’ the laird,She winna come hame to her ain Jock Rab.O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M’Nab!O come thy ways to me, my Eppie M’Nab!Whate’er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon,Thou’s welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab.

II.

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M’Nab?What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M’Nab?She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot,And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab.O had I ne’er seen thee, my Eppie M’Nab!O had I ne’er seen thee, my Eppie M’Nab!As light as the air, and fause as thou’s fair,Thou’s broken the heart o’ thy ain Jock Rab.

Tune—“Lass an I come near thee.”

[The “Auld man and the Widow,” in Ramsay’s collection is said, by Gilbert Burns, to have suggested this song to his brother: it first appeared in the Museum.]

Wha is that at my bower door?O, wha is it but Findlay?Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be here!—Indeed, maun I, quo’ Findlay.What mak ye sae like a thief?O come and see, quo’ Findlay;Before the morn ye’ll work mischief;Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay.

II.

Gif I rise and let you in?Let me in, quo’ Findlay;Ye’ll keep me waukin wi’ your din;Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay.In my bower if you should stay?Let me stay, quo’ Findlay;I fear ye’ll bide till break o’ day;Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay.

III.

Here this night if ye remain;—I’ll remain, quo’ Findlay;I dread ye’ll learn the gate again;Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay.What may pass within this bower,—Let it pass, quo’ Findlay;Ye maun conceal till your last hour;Indeed will I, quo’ Findlay!

Tune—“What can a young lassie do wi’ an auld man.”

[In the old strain, which partly suggested this song, the heroine threatens only to adorn her husband’s brows: Burns proposes a system of domestic annoyance to break his heart.]

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,What can a young lassie do wi’ an auld man?Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnieTo sell her poor Jenny for siller an’ lan’!Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnieTo sell her poor Jenny for siller an’ lan’!

II.

He’s always compleenin’ frae mornin’ to e’enin’,He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;He’s doyl’t and he’s dozin’, his bluid it is frozen,O, dreary’s the night wi’ a crazy auld man!He’s doyl’t and he’s dozin’, his bluid it is frozen,O, dreary’s the night wi’ a crazy auld man!

III.

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers,I never can please him, do a’ that I can;He’s peevish and jealous of a’ the young fellows:O, dool on the day I met wi’ an auld man!He’s peevish and jealous of a’ the young fellows:O, dool on the day I met wi’ an auld man!

IV.

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,I’ll do my endeavour to follow her plan;I’ll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him,And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.I’ll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him,And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

Tune—“Bonnie wee thing.”

[“Composed,” says the poet, “on my little idol, the charming, lovely Davies.”]

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,I wad wear thee in my bosom,Lest my jewel I should tine.Wishfully I look and languishIn that bonnie face o’ thine;And my heart it stounds wi’ anguish,Lest my wee thing be na mine.

II.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beautyIn ae constellation shine;To adore thee is my duty,Goddess o’ this soul o’ mine!Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing.Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,I wad wear thee in my bosom,Lest my jewel I should tine!

To a Highland Air.

[“The tune of this song,” says Burns, “is originally from the Highlands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which was not by any means a lady’s song.” “It occurs,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “in the Museum, without the name of Burns.” It was sent in the poet’s own handwriting to Johnson, and is believed to be his composition.]

The tither morn,When I forlorn,Aneath an oak sat moaning,I did na trowI’d see my Jo,Beside me, gain the gloaming.But he sae trig,Lap o’er the rig.And dawtingly did cheer me,When I, what reck,Did least expec’,To see my lad so near me.

II.

His bonnet he,A thought ajee,Cock’d sprush when first he clasp’d me;And I, I wat,Wi’ fainness grat,While in his grips be press’d me.Deil tak’ the war!I late and airHae wish’d since Jock departed;But now as gladI’m wi’ my lad,As short syne broken-hearted.

III.

Fu’ aft at e’enWi’ dancing keen,When a’ were blythe and merry,I car’d na by,Sae sad was IIn absence o’ my dearie.But praise be blest,My mind’s at rest,I’m happy wi’ my Johnny:At kirk and fair,I’se ay be there,And be as canty’s ony.

Tune—“Rory Dall’s Port.”

[Believed to relate to the poet’s parting with Clarinda. “These exquisitely affecting stanzas,” says Scott, “contain the essence of a thousand love-tales.” They are in the Museum.]

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