The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 155

I ken they scorn my low estate, But that does never grieve me; But I'm as free as any he, Sma' siller will relieve me.

I count my health my greatest wealth, Sae long as I'll enjoy it: I'll fear na scant, I'll bode nae want, As lang's I get employment.

IV.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair, And ay until ye try them: Tho' they seem fair, still have a care, They may prove waur than I am.

But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright, My dear, I'll come and see thee; For the man that lo'es his mistress weel, Nae travel makes him weary.

CCXIX.

THE FAREWELL.

Tune--"_It was a' for our rightfu' king._"

["It seems very doubtful," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "how much, even if any part of this song was written by Burns: it occurs in the Musical Museum, but not with his name." Burns, it is believed, rather pruned and beautified an old Scottish lyric, than composed this strain entirely. Johnson received it from him in his own handwriting.]

I.

It was a' for our rightfu' king, We left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' king We e'er saw Irish land, My dear; We e'er saw Irish land.

II.

Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear; For I maun cross the main.

III.

He turn'd him right, and round about Upon the Irish sh.o.r.e; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear; With adieu for evermore.

IV.

The sodger from the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear; Never to meet again

V.

When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep; I think on him that's far awa', The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear; The lee-lang night, and weep.

CCXX.

O STEER HER UP.

Tune--"_O steer her up, and haud her gaun._"

[Burns, in composing these verses, took the introductory lines of an older lyric, eked them out in his own way, and sent them to the Museum.]

I.

O steer her up and haud her gaun-- Her mother's at the mill, jo; And gin she winna take a man, E'en let her take her will, jo: First sh.o.r.e her wi' a kindly kiss, And ca' another gill, jo, And gin she take the thing amiss, E'en let her flyte her fill, jo.

II.

O steer her up, and be na blate, An' gin she take it ill, jo, Then lea'e the la.s.sie till her fate, And time nae longer spill, jo: Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, But think upon it still, jo, That gin the la.s.sie winna do't, Ye'll fin' anither will, jo.

CCXXI.

O AY MY WIFE SHE DANG ME.

Tune--"_My wife she dang me._"

[Other verses to the same air, belonging to the olden times, are still remembered in Scotland: but they are only sung when the wine is in, and the sense of delicacy out. This song is in the Museum.]

I.

O ay my wife she dang me, And aft my wife did bang me, If ye gie a woman a' her will, Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.

On peace and rest my mind was bent, And fool I was I married; But never honest man's intent, As cursedly miscarried.

II.

Some sairie comfort still at last, When a' their days are done, man; My pains o' h.e.l.l on earth are past, I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man.

O ay my wife she dang me, And aft my wife did bang me, If ye gie a woman a' her will, Gude faith, she'll soon o'er-gang ye.

CCXXII.

OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.

Tune--"_La.s.s o' Livistone._"

[Tradition says this song was composed in honour of Jessie Lewars, the Jessie of the poet's death-bed strains. It is inserted in Thomson's collection: variations occur in several ma.n.u.scripts, but they are neither important nor curious.]