Ye'll break my heart, ye little birds, Departed never to return. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; TUNE-Katherine Ogie. YE banks, and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flow'rs, For there I took the last fareweel How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk! Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace, *Burns wrote this song upon an unfortunate attachment between Miss K-, a kinswoman of his friend Gavin Hamilton, and a Captain M'-. † Coilsfield House, near Mauchline; but poetically titled as above, on account of the name of the proprietor. And, pledging aft to meet again, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, TO MARY IN HEAVEN. BURNS. THOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, My Mary from my soul was torn. *This and the following song refer to Mary Campbell, one of Burns's earliest and most beloved mistresses. It affords a strange illustration of the power of a poetical mind, in elevating and adorning whatever it is pleased to regard with respect, that this girl, at the time Burns was acquainted with her, was merely the dairy-woman at Coilsfield House; a fact which I have long hesitated to divulge, in the fear that it may dispel from the mind of the reader much of the sentiment which he entertains regarding these glorious lyrics, while, on the other hand, it appeared to me too remarkable an instance of the power of poetry to be withheld. When this much-honoured young woman was about to pay a visit to her relations in Argyleshire, in order to arrange matters for her marriage with the poet, they met, by appointment, in a sequestered spot by the banks of the Ayr, where they spent the day in taking a farewell, and in exchanging assurances of mutual attachment and fidelity. Their adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials, which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions, and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and, holding a Bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other. Mary carried that Bible with her, the poet having previously inscribed upon a blank leaf some testimonial of his affection. At the close of the following Autumn, she crossed the Frith of Clyde, to meet Burns at Greenock; but she had scarcely landed there, when she was seized with a malignant fever, which carried her off in a few days. Her grave is still shown in the churchyard of that town; and her mother resided there so lately as the year 1822. R Oh, Mary, dear departed shade! Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? - That sacred hour can I forget?- Those records dear of transports past; Äh little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? * *This admired lyric was composed, late in life, on the anniversary of the incident referred to in the foregoing song and note. Overpowered by his feelings, the poet retired from his family-it was at Ellisland-and, flinging himself upon a half-demolished stack in the farm-yard, lay upon his back the whole night, surveying the starry heavens above him, and forming in his mind the glowing lines of this most impassioned of all his compositions. DOUN THE BURN, DAVIE. CRAWFORD. TUNE-Doun the Burn, Davie. WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green, Blythe Davie's blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free : Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I will follow thee. Now Davie did each lad surpass Her cheeks were rosie, red and white ; Her looks were like the morning bright, [ADDED BY BURNS.] As down the burn they took their way, With, Mary, when shall we return, Sic pleasure to renew ? Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn, And will follow you.* aye *Burns was informed that the air of this song was composed by David Maigh, who, in his time, had been keeper of the blood-hounds to the Laird of Riddel, in Roxburghshire. The song first appeared in the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724, SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. BURNS. TUNE Tibbie Fowler. WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed, Could stown a clew wi' onie bodie. O, Tinkler Madgie was her mother: Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her! She has an ee, she has but ane, I wadna gie a button for her! She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, I wadna gie a button for her! * Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, And wi' her loof her face a-washin'; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dichts her grunyie + wi' a hushion. + Her walie neeves,|| like midden creels; I wadna gie a button for her! * The cat. † Mouth. + Cushion. Fists. |