Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 82

Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me.

O For Ane An' Twenty, Tam

Chorus.--An' O for ane an' twenty, Tam!

And hey, sweet ane an' twenty, Tam!

I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam.

They snool me sair, and haud me down, An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam; But three short years will soon wheel roun', An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam.

An' O for, &c.

A glieb o' lan', a claut o' gear, Was left me by my auntie, Tam; At kith or kin I need na spier, An I saw ane an' twenty, Tam.

An' O for, &c.

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam; But, hear'st thou laddie! there's my loof, I'm thine at ane an' twenty, Tam!

An' O for, &c.

Thou Fair Eliza

Turn again, thou fair Eliza!

Ae kind blink before we part; Rue on thy despairing lover, Can'st thou break his faithfu' heart?

Turn again, thou fair Eliza!

If to love thy heart denies, Oh, in pity hide the sentence Under friendship's kind disguise!

Thee, sweet maid, hae I offended?

My offence is loving thee; Can'st thou wreck his peace for ever, Wha for thine would gladly die?

While the life beats in my bosom, Thou shalt mix in ilka throe: Turn again, thou lovely maiden, Ae sweet smile on me bestow.

Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sinny noon; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon; Not the Minstrel in the moment Fancy lightens in his e'e, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gies to me.

My Bonie Bell

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, And surly Winter grimly flies; Now crystal clear are the falling waters, And bonie blue are the sunny skies.

Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell; All creatures joy in the sun's returning, And I rejoice in my bonie Bell.

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, The yellow Autumn presses near; Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, Till smiling Spring again appear: Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell; But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonie Bell.

Sweet Afton

Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon th.o.r.n.y den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Address To The Shade Of Thomson

On Crowning His Bust at Ednam, Roxburghshire, with a Wreath of Bays.

While virgin Spring by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, Or tunes Eolian strains between.

While Summer, with a matron grace, Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spiky blade.

While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head, And sees, with self-approving mind, Each creature on his bounty fed.

While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence cla.s.sic Yarrow flows, Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows.

So long, sweet Poet of the year!

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won; While Scotia, with exulting tear, Proclaims that Thomson was her son.

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame

The n.o.ble Maxwells and their powers Are coming o'er the border, And they'll gae big Terreagles' towers And set them a' in order.

And they declare Terreagles fair, For their abode they choose it; There's no a heart in a' the land But's lighter at the news o't.

Tho' stars in skies may disappear, And angry tempests gather; The happy hour may soon be near That brings us pleasant weather: The weary night o' care and grief May hae a joyfu' morrow; so dawning day has brought relief, Fareweel our night o' sorrow.

Frae The Friends And Land I Love

Tune--"Carron Side."