190

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,

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,
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
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 lass
There's nane again sae bonnie.
Robert Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O 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 gang 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 o' life shall run,

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns

191

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!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
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,
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 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,
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 mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

Robert Burns

192

AULD ROBIN GRAY

When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame,

And a' the world to rest are gane,

The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e,

While my gudeman lies sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel and sought me for his bride,
But saving a croun he had naething else beside;

To make the croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea,
And the croun and the pund were baith for me.

He hadna been awa' a week but only twa,

When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown

awa;

My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea-
And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me.

My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintain 'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!"

My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, "Wae's me?"

My father urgit sair; my mother didna speak,

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break; They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the seaSae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been a wife a week but only four,

When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he-
Till he said, "I'm come hame to marry thee."

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away-
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee;
And why was I born to say, "Wae's me!"

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.

Lady Anne Lindsay

193

DUNCAN GRAY

Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't;

On blythe Yule night when we were fou,
Ha, ha, the wooing o't:

Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig;
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,
Grat his een baith bleer't and blin',
Spak o' lowpin ower a linn!

Time and chance are but a tide,

Slighted love is sair to bide;

"Shall I, like a fool," quoth he,
"For a haughty hizzie dee?

She may gae to--France, for me!"

How it comes let doctors tell,
Meg grew sick-as he grew well;
Something in her bosom wrings;

For relief a sigh she brings,

And, O her een, they spak sic things!

Duncan was a lad o' grace;
Maggie's was a piteous case;
Duncan couldna be her death,

Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath;