The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 162

CCXLI.

O LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, La.s.s.

Tune--"_Cordwainer's March._"

[The air to which these verses were written, is commonly played at the Saturnalia of the shoemakers on King Crispin's day. Burns sent it to the Museum.]

I.

O lay thy loof in mine, la.s.s, In mine, la.s.s, in mine, la.s.s; And swear on thy white hand, la.s.s, That thou wilt be my ain.

A slave to love's unbounded sway, He aft has wrought me meikle wae; But now he is my deadly fae, Unless thou be my ain.

II.

There's monie a la.s.s has broke my rest, That for a blink I hae lo'ed best; But thou art queen within my breast, For ever to remain.

O lay thy loof in mine, la.s.s, In mine, la.s.s, in mine, la.s.s; And swear on thy white hand, la.s.s, That thou wilt be my ain.

CCXLII.

THE FETE CHAMPETRE.

Tune--"_Killiecrankie._"

[Written to introduce the name of Cunninghame, of Enterkin, to the public. Tents were erected on the banks of Ayr, decorated with shrubs, and strewn with flowers, most of the names of note in the district were invited, and a splendid entertainment took place; but no dissolution of parliament followed as was expected, and the Lord of Enterkin, who was desirous of a seat among the "Commons," poured out his wine in vain.]

I.

O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, To do our errands there, man?

O wha will to Saint Stephen's house, O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man?

Or will we send a man-o'-law?

Or will we send a sodger?

Or him wha led o'er Scotland a'

The meikle Ursa-Major?

II.

Come, will ye court a n.o.ble lord, Or buy a score o' lairds, man?

For worth and honour p.a.w.n their word, Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man?

Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, Anither gies them clatter; Anbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste, He gies a Fete Champetre.

III.

When Love and Beauty heard the news, The gay green-woods amang, man; Where gathering flowers and busking bowers, They heard the blackbird's sang, man; A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, Sir Politicks to fetter, As theirs alone, the patent-bliss To hold a Fete Champetre.

IV.

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing, O'er hill and dale she flew, man; Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man: She summon'd every social sprite That sports by wood or water, On th' bonny banks of Ayr to meet, And keep this Fete Champetre.

V.

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, Were bound to stakes like kye, man; And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', Clamb up the starry sky, man: Reflected beams dwell in the streams, Or down the current shatter; The western breeze steals thro' the trees, To view this Fete Champetre.

VI.

How many a robe sae gaily floats!

What sparkling jewels glance, man!

To Harmony's enchanting notes, As moves the mazy dance, man.

The echoing wood, the winding flood, Like Paradise did glitter, When angels met, at Adam's yett, To hold their Fete Champetre.

VII.

When Politics came there, to mix And make his ether-stane, man!

He circled round the magic ground, But entrance found he nane, man: He blush'd for shame, he quat his name, Forswore it, every letter, Wi' humble prayer to join and share This festive Fete Champetre.

CCXLIII.

HERE'S A HEALTH.

Tune--"_Here's a health to them that's awa._"

[The Charlie of this song was Charles Fox; Tammie was Lord Erskine; and M'Leod, the maiden name of the Countess of Loudon, was then, as now, a name of influence both in the Highlands and Lowlands. The buff and blue of the Whigs had triumphed over the white rose of Jacobitism in the heart of Burns, when he wrote these verses.]

I.

Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa'!

It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's good to support Caldonia's cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

II.

Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa, Here's a health to Charlie the chief of the clan, Altho' that his band be sma'.

May liberty meet wi' success!

May prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil!

III.