And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, To tend the flocks, or till the soil, Wi' the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.* WERE NA MY HEART LICHT I WAD DEE. LADY GRIZZEL BAILLIE.† TUNE-Were na my heart licht. THERE was anes a may, and she loo'd na men: When bonnie young Jamie cam ower the sea, He becht me, &c. He had a wee titty that loo'd na me, She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his mother, She raised, &c. *This song was written in praise of Miss Alexander of Ballochmyle. Burns happened one fine evening to meet this young lady, when walking through the beautiful woods of Ballochmyle, which lie at the distance of two miles from his farm of Mossgiel, near Mauchline. Struck with a sense of her passing beauty, he wrote this noble lyric; which he soon after sent to her, enclosed in a letter, as full of delicate and romantic sentiment as itself. He was somewhat mortified to find, that either maidenly modesty, or pride of superior station, prevented her from acknowledging the receipt of his compliment. f Daughter of the patriotic Patrick, first Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George Baillie, Esq. of Jerviswood; a lady of singular talent and strength of mind, and adorned with all the domestic virtues. Her Memoirs, written by her daughter, Lady Murray of Stanhope, and lately published, form one of the most delightful volumes of the kind in the English language. She died, a widow, in 1746. The day it was set, and the bridal to be: His kin was for ane of a higher degree, They said I had neither cow nor caff, His titty she was baith wylie and slee, His bonnet stood aye fou round on his brow; His auld ane look'd aye as well as some's new; But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing, And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. But now he, &c. And now he gaes daundrin about the dykes, Were I young for thee as I hae been, We should ha' been gallopin down on yon green, And linkin it on yon lilie-white lea; * From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1721. AULD ROB MORRIS, BURNS. TUNE-Auld Rob Morris. THERE'S auld Rob Morris, that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' gude fellows and wale o' auld men ; He has gowd in his coffers, and owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; But, oh, she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, THE LAST TIME I CAM OWER THE MUIR. RAMSAY. TUNE-The last time I cam ower the Muir. THE last time I cam ower the muir, Soon as the ruddy morn display'd We stray'd beside yon wand'ring stream, Even kings, when she was nigh me; In raptures I beheld her eyes, Should I be call'd where cannons roar, In all my soul there's not one place Since she excels in ev'ry grace, The neist time I gang ower the muir, And that faith is firm and pure, my Though I left her behind me; There, while my being does remain, My love more fresh shall blossom.* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. It is known, however, that Ramsay wrote the song as a substitute for an older one, of which he retained only the first line. T GREEN GROW THE RASHES. BURNS. TUNE-Grant's Strathspey. THERE'S nought but care on every hand, The warly race may riches chase, Gie me a canny hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O; For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears There is an old rude song to this air, having the same owerword. I subjoin, by way of curiosity, a German translation of this favourite Scottish song, which has been handed to me by a friend. DIE WEIBERCHEN. SCHOTTISCHES LIED. Es ist nur Sorge überall In jeder Stund' der Irdischen; |