Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (43 page)
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Authors: Robert Burns
215.
HEY, the dusty Miller,
And his dusty coat,
He will win a shilling,
Or he spend a groat:
Dusty was the coat,
5
Dusty was the colour,
Dusty was the kiss
That I gat frae the Miller.
Hey, the dusty Miller,
And his dusty sack;
10
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck:
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller;
I wad gie my coatie
15
For the dusty Miller.
216.
THERE was a lass, they ca’d her Meg,
And she held o’er the moors to spin;
There was a lad that follow’d her,
They ca’d him Duncan Davison.
The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh,
5
Her favour Duncan could na win;
For wi’ the rock she wad him knock,
And aye she shook the temper-pin.
As o’er the moor they lightly foor,
A burn was clear, a glen was green,
10
Upon the banks they eas’d their shanks,
And aye she set the wheel between:
But Duncan swoor a haly aith,
That Meg should be a bride the morn;
Then Meg took up her spinning-graith,
15
And flang them a’ out o’er the burn.
We will big a wee, wee house,
And we will live like king and queen;
Sae blythe and merry’s we will be,
When ye set by the wheel at e’en.
20
A man may drink, and no be drunk;
A man may fight, and no be slain;
A man may kiss a bonie lass,
And aye be welcome back again!
217.
The Lad they ca’ Jumpin John (Song)
HER daddie forbad, her minnie forbad
Forbidden she wadna be:
She wadna trow’t the browst she brew’d,
Wad taste sae bitterlie.
Chorus.
— The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John
5
Beguil’d the bonie lassie,
The lang lad they ca’Jumpin John
Beguil’d the bonie lassie.
A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf,
And thretty gude shillin’s and three;
10
A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man’s dochter,
The lass wi’ the bonie black e’e.
The lang lad, &c.
218.
Talk of him that’s Far Awa (Song)
MUSING on the roaring ocean,
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying heav’n in warm devotion,
For his weal where’er he be.
Hope and Fear’s alternate billow
5
Yielding late to Nature’s law,
Whispering spirits round my pillow,
Talk of him that’s far awa.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
10
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
15
Talk of him that’s far awa!
219.
THE BLUDE-RED rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me.
Refrain.
— To daunton me, to daunton me,
5
And auld man shall never daunton me.
To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi’ his fause heart and flatt’ring tongue,
That is the thing you shall never see,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
10
To daunton me, &c.
For a’ his meal and a’ his maut,
For a’ his fresh beef and his saut,
For a’ his gold and white monie,
And auld men shall never daunton me.
15
To daunton me, &c.
His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
But me he shall not buy nor fee,
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
20
To daunton me, &c.
He hirples twa fauld as he dow,
Wi’ his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,
And the rain rains down frae his red blear’d e’e;
That auld man shall never daunton me.
25
To daunton me, &c.
220.
THE WINTER it is past, and the summer comes at last
And the small birds, they sing on ev’ry tree;
Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
5
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.
221.
The Bonie Lad that’s Far Awa (Song)
O HOW can I be blythe and glad,
Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
When the bonie lad that I lo’e best
Is o’er the hills and far awa!
It’s no the frosty winter wind,
5
It’s no the driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my e’e,
To think on him that’s far awa.
My father pat me frae his door,
My friends they hae disown’d me a’;
10
But I hae ane will tak my part,
The bonie lad that’s far awa.
A pair o’ glooves he bought to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa;
And I will wear them for his sake,
15
The bonie lad that’s far awa.
O weary Winter soon will pass,
And Spring will cleed the birken shaw;
And my young babie will be born,
And he’ll be hame that’s far awa.
20
222.
Verses to Clarinda, with Drinking Glasses
Sent with a Pair of Wine-Glasses.
FAIR Empress of the Poet’s soul,
And Queen of Poetesses;
Clarinda, take this little boon,
This humble pair of glasses:
And fill them up with generous juice,
5
As generous as your mind;
And pledge them to the generous toast,
“The whole of human kind!”
“To those who love us!” second fill;
But not to those whom we love;
10
Lest we love those who love not us —
A third— “To thee and me, Love!”
223.
Air
— “Captain O’Kean.”
THE SMALL birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro’ the vale;
The primroses blow in the dews of the morning,
And wild scatter’d cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,
5
When the lingering moments are numbered by care?
No birds sweetly singing, nor flow’rs gaily springing,
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice?
A king and a father to place on his throne!
10
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
Where the wild beasts find shelter, tho’ I can find none!
But ‘tis not my suff’rings, thus wretched, forlorn,
My brave gallant friends, ‘tis your ruin I mourn;
Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, —
15
Alas! I can make it no better return!
224.
IN this strange land, this uncouth clime,
A land unknown to prose or rhyme;
Where words ne’er cross’t the Muse’s heckles,
Nor limpit in poetic shackles:
A land that Prose did never view it,
5
Except when drunk he stacher’t thro’ it;
Here, ambush’d by the chimla cheek,
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,
I hear a wheel thrum i’ the neuk,
I hear it — for in vain I leuk.
10
The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel,
Enhuskèd by a fog infernal:
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures,
I sit and count my sins by chapters;
For life and spunk like ither Christians,
15
I’m dwindled down to mere existence,
Wi’ nae converse but Gallowa’ bodies,
Wi’ nae kenn’d face but Jenny Geddes,
Jenny, my Pegasean pride!
Dowie she saunters down Nithside,
20
And aye a westlin leuk she throws,
While tears hap o’er her auld brown nose!
Was it for this, wi’ cannie care,
Thou bure the Bard through many a shire?
At howes, or hillocks never stumbled,
25
And late or early never grumbled? —
O had I power like inclination,
I’d heeze thee up a constellation,
To canter with the Sagitarre,
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar;
30
Or turn the pole like any arrow;
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-morrow,
Down the zodiac urge the race,
And cast dirt on his godship’s face;
For I could lay my bread and kail
35
He’d ne’er cast saut upo’ thy tail. —
Wi’ a’ this care and a’ this grief,
And sma’, sma’ prospect of relief,
And nought but peat reek i’ my head,
How can I write what ye can read? —
40
Tarbolton, twenty-fourth o’ June,
Ye’ll find me in a better tune;
But till we meet and weet our whistle,
Tak this excuse for nae epistle.
ROBERT BURNS.
