There to my fair I'll show my mind,
Whatever may befall me:
If she love mirth, I'll learn to sing;
Or likes the Nine to follow,
I'll lay my lugs in Pindus' spring,
And invocate Apollo.
If she admire a martial mind,
I'll sheathe my limbs in armour
If to the softer dance inclined,
With gayest airs I'll charm her;
If she love grandeur, day and night
I'll plot my nation's glory,
Find favour in my prince's sight,
And shine in future story.
Beauty can wonders work with ease,
Where wit is corresponding;
And bravest men know best to please,
With complaisance abounding.
My bonny Maggy's love can turn
Me to what shape she pleases,
If in her breast that flame shall burn,
Which in my bosom bleezes.*
BLYTHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL.
TUNE-Liggeram cosh. †
BLYTHE hae I been on yon hill,
As the lambs before me;
Careless ilka thought and free,
As the breeze flew o'er me:
From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
t "Liggeram cosh," is the Highland name of the tune more commonly known by the title of " The Quaker's Wife."
Now nae langer sport and play,
Mirth or sang, can please me;
Lesley is so fair and coy,
Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task,
Hopeless love declaring:
Trembling, I do nocht but glowr,
Sighing, dumb, despairing!
If she winna ease the thraws
In my bosom swelling,
Underneath the grass-green
Soon maun be my dwelling.
THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME.
TUNE-There'll never be peace till Jamie comes Hame.
By yon castle-wa', at the close o' the day,
I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey;
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 daurna weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame,—
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
And now I greet round their green beds in the yird: It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dameThere'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
Now life is a burden 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-My Nannie, O.
Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows,
'Mang muirs and mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,
And I'll awa to Nannie, O.
The westlin' wind blaws loud and shrill; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal, And o'er the hills to Nannie, O.
My Nannie's charmin', sweet, and young ;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O;
May ill befa' the flatterin' tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O!
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The openin' gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.
A country lad is my degree,
And few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be— I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. My riches a' 's my penny fee,
And I maun guide it cannie, O.
But warld's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thochts are a' my Nannie, O.
Our auld gudeman delights to view
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blyth, that hauds his plough,
And has nae care but Nannie, O.
Come weel, come wae, I carena by,
I'll tak what Heaven will send me, O.
Nae other care in life hae I,
But live and love my Nannie, O. *
TUNE-The Birks of Abergeldy.
BONNIE lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will ye go,
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, to the Birks of Aberfeldy?
Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlets plays;
Come, let us spend the lichtsome days
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.
Bonnie lassie, &c.
While o'er their head the hazels hing,
The little birdies blythely sing,
Or lichtly flit on wanton wing,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy.
The braes ascend like lofty wa's,
The foamin' stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreadin' shaws,
The Birks of Aberfeldy.
The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow'rs,
White ower the lin the burnie pours,
And, risin', weets wi' misty show'rs
The Birks of Aberfeldy.
Let fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely bless'd wi' love and thee,
In the Birks of Aberfeldy. +
*The heroine of this song was a Miss Fleming, the daughter of a farmer in the parish of Tarbolton, Ayrshire. It was written while Burns was a very young man, and while, in reality, his only employment was "to haud the plough," and ponder on his mistress.
+ Burns composed this song while standing under the Falls of Aberfeldy, near Moness, in Perthshire. The chorus is borrowed from an old simple
By Logan streams that rin sae deep,
Fou aft wi' glee I've herded sheep;
Herded sheep and gather'd slaes,
Wi' my dear lad on Logan braes.
But wae's my heart, thae days are gane,
And I wi' grief may herd alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachins meet wi' me;
Meet wi' me, or, when it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing, thae days are gane :
Frae kirk and fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
At e'en, when hope amaist is gane,
I daunder out and sit alane,
Sit alane, beneath the tree,
Where aft he keept his tryst wi' me.
Oh, could I see thae days again,
My lover skaithless, and my ain!
Beloved by friends, revered by faes,
We'd live in bliss on Logan braes.
While for her love she thus did sigh,
She saw a sodger passin' by,
Passin' by, wi' scarlet claes,
While sair she grat on Logan braes :
ditty, called the Birks of Abergeldy," with the alteration of the letter "g" into "f," to make it suit the beautiful scene which he wished to eulogize. Abergeldy is an estate in Aberdeenshire, formerly remarkable for the production of birches, but now planted (by its proprietor, Mr Gordon of Abergeldy,) with oaks, and other more profitable timber.
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