The Canongate Burns (69 page)
Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
Tune: Here Awa, There Awa
First printed in Thomson's
Select Collection
, May 1793.
Here awa', there awa' wandering Willie,
away
        Here awa', there awa', haud awa' hame;
hold, home
Come to my bosom, my ae only deary,
one, dearie
        And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.Â
5
Loud tho' the Winter blew cauld on our parting,
cold
        âTwas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e:
not, eye
Welcome now Simmer, and welcome my Willie;
summer
        The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.
summer
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers,
10
        How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes! row gently, ye billows!
waken
        And waft my dear Laddie ance mair to my arms.
once more
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
not
        Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main:
15
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
pledge
        But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!
own
This is based on an old song called
Thro' the Lang Muir
, which contains one stanza and a chorus, repeated with a variation (See Scott Douglas, Vol. 1, p. 377). The original is a competent Scots song â an additional stanza was added to the version printed in the S.M.M. in 1787 â but the song is significantly improved by Burns. It was written in early 1792, but redrafted for Thomson in March 1793 (Letter 543).
First printed in Thomson's
Select Collection
, May 1793.
Braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
fine, hill sides
       Rove amang the blooming heather;
among
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettrick shaws,
woods
       Can match the lads o' Galla water.Â
5
But there is ane, a secret ane,
one, one
       Aboon them a' I loe him better;
above, love
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
       The bonie lad o' Galla water.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird,
no
10
       And tho' I hae na meikle tocher,
have no big dowry
Yet, rich in kindest, truest love,
       We'll tent our flocks by Galla water.
tend
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
       That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
bought
15
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
       O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
world's
The original of this song is found in Herd's collection, although a version appears in S.M.M. in 1788, with slight variations in text, which might have been minor improvements by Burns. However, the above is merely modified on the old song and is significantly changed to make a superior song.
First printed in Thomson's
Select Collection
, May 1793.
There's Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,
dwells
He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men;
good, pick
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,
gold, oxen, cattle
And ae bonie lassie, his dawtie and mine.
one, darling
5
She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May,
She's sweet as the e'enin amang the new hay;
among
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea,
pasture
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.
eye
But oh, she's an Heiress, auld Robin's a laird;
old
10
And my daddie has nocht but a cot-house and yard:
nothing, cottage
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed;
must not, succeed
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
death
The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane;
none
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane:
gone
15
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,
alone, ghost
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.
would
O had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!
would have
O, how past descriving had then been my bliss,
describing
20
As now my distraction no words can express!
This is based on a traditional dialogue song between a mother and daughter printed in the
Tea-Table Miscellany
, but only a couplet or so of the original are kept by Burns. He struggled with the pedantic
Thomson to maintain an air of rustic simplicity in the song. He told Thomson, âThere is a naivete, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight intermixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more in unison ⦠than any English verses whatever. â For instance, in my Auld Rob Morris, you propose instead of the word âdescriving', to substitute the phrase âall telling', which would spoil the rusticity, the pastoral, of the stanza' (Letter 535). The theme once again is the juxtaposition of love and wealth in a feudal social order. The rhyme at lines 15â16 of âghaist' and âbreast' relies on the west of Scotland Scots pronunciation of
breast
as
braist
. A version of this song appears in the Scots
Magazine
, July 1797, p. 479.
Tune: Open the Door Softly
First printed in Thomson's
Select Collection
, May 1793.
Oh, open the door, some pity to shew,
      If love it may na be, Oh;
not
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
      Oh, open the door to me, Oh.Â
5
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
cold
      But caulder thy love for me, Oh:
colder
The frost, that freezes the life at my heart,
      Is nought to my pains frae thee, Oh.
from
The wan moon sets behind the white wave,
10
      And Time is setting with me, Oh:
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
      I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, Oh.
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide,
      She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh:
corpse
15
My true love! she cried, and sank down by his side,
      Never to rise again, Oh.Â
The old song Burns has used here is Scottish, set to an Irish air. Thomson printed it with the headnote âAltered by Robt. Burns' and placed rewritten lyrics for the same song by Dr John Wolcot (Peter Pindar) suggesting that Thomson thought Pindar's more English version as good as Burns's, which it is not. It was sent to Thomson in April 1793.
Tune: The Mill, Mill O
First printed in Thomson's
Select Collection
, May 1793.
When wild War's deadly blast was blawn,
blowing
        And gentle Peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
many
        And mony a widow mourning:
many
5
I left the lines, and tented field,
        Where lang I'd been a lodger,
long
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
        A poor and honest sodger.
soldier
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
loyal
10
        My hand unstain'd wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia, hame again
home
        I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
        I thought upon my Nancy,
15
And ay I mind't the witching smile
always, remembered
        That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach'd the bonny glen,
        Where early life I sported;
I pass'd the mill and trysting thorn,
meeting place
20
        Where Nancy aft I courted:
often
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
who, own
        Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turn'd me round to hide the flood
        That in my een was swelling.
eyes
25
Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass,
        Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
        That's dearest to thy bosom:
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
go
30
        And fain wad be thy lodger;
would
I've serv'd my king and country lang,
long
        Take pity on a sodger!
soldier
Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me,
so
        And lovelier was than ever;
35
Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed,
loved
        Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
homely food
        Ye freely shall partake it,
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Jacobite white rose
40
        Ye're welcome for the sake o't.
She gaz'd â she redden'd like a rose â
        Syne pale like ony lily,
then, any
She sank within my arms, and cried,
        Art thou my ain dear Willie? â
own
45
By Him who made yon sun and sky,
        By whom true love's regarded,
I am the man â and thus may still
        True lovers be rewarded!
The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame,
home
50
        And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
        And mair, â we'se ne'er be parted!
more
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
gold
        A mailen plenish'd fairly;
piece of arable land
55
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad,
soldier
        Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly!
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
sea
        The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
soldier
60
        The sodger's wealth is honour;
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
        Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember, he's his country's stay
        In day and hour of danger.
This was the final song Burns sent to Thomson for inclusion in his Volume going to press in April for May 1793. Thomson's arrogance as an editor of song lyrics compelled him to change the lines âWi' monie a sweet babe fatherless /And monie a widow mourning' to the dull âAnd eyes again with pleasure beam'd, /That had been blear'd wi' mourning'. According to Thomson, Burns's original lines did not suit the music. Characteristically this alleged aesthetic improvement
was, in reality, an act of political censorship. Thomson is smoothing over the patently obvious anti-war connotations of the song, resonant at that time since Britain was currently at war with France (see notes to
Logan
Braes
for a similar censorial act). It is probably due to the editorial changes made by Thomson that Burns printed his song in
The Glasgow Courier
in September 1793, in order to see a corrected version in print. The theme of the poet's song is found in one of Ramsay's works,
Beneath a Green Shade I Fand a
Fair Maid, in the Orpheus Caledonius
, 1733, where the soldier returns from Flanders to find his true love. Given that the word âsodger' is used through the song â soldier would not rhyme with âlodger' â it seems incongruous to title the song
The Soldier's Return.
The title given here is therefore the Scots
The Sodger's Return.
Tune: Major Graham
First printed in Urbani's selection of Scots Songs, Edinburgh, 1794.
O my Luve 's like a red, red rose,
      That 's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve 's like the melodie
      That 's sweetly play'd in tune. âÂ
5
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
      So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my Dear,
      Till a' the seas gang dry. â
go
Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
go
10
      And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
      While the sands o' life shall run. â
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
well
      And fare thee weel, a while!
15
And I will come again, my Luve,
      Tho' it were ten thousand mile!Â
This exquisite love song epitomises a central dilemma with the poet's song output. Almost all of the phrases and images employed here have been traced to various traditional songs. For example, these old words are given in Kinsley:
Her cheeks are like the Roses
      That blossom fresh in June,
O, she's like a new-strung instrument
      That's newly put in tune;Â
/⦠Altho' I go a thousand miles
      I vow thy face to see,
Altho' I go ten thousand miles
      I'll come again to thee, dear Love,
I'll come again to thee â¦
      The Day shall turn to Night, dear Love,
And the Rocks melt wi' the Sun,
      Before that I prove false to thee. (Vol. III, pp. 1454â5.)Â
Since frequently the seam cannot be detected between folk-song and Burns's verse, there exists an insoluble critical problem as to original compositon. With regard to this poem, Kinsley oddly remarks that: âWe may, however, be doing an injustice to oral tradition in regarding [this] even as a reconstruction by Burns.' Burns himself would be the last person to deny that, if his lyrics were golden, it was because of the quality of the traditional ore. On the other hand, he rightly feared the parochial, sentimental verse which would be written in his name.
