Sweet the lark's wild-warbling lay, The flower-enamor'd busy bee But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; For, oh! my soul is parch'd by love! COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST. This and the five following songs were addressed to Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. TUNE-Kauld Kail. COME, let me take thee to my breast, And I shall spurn, as vilest dust, And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her? I ask for dearest life alone, Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN. I'LL ay ca" in by yon town And by yon garden green again; I'll ay ca' in by yon town, And see my bonnie Jean again. There's nane sall ken,' there's nane sall guess, And stowlins we sall meet again. She'll wander by the aiken-tree, Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again. THE RANTING DOG THE DADDIE O'T. Burns says, "I composed this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud." TUNE-East neuk o' Fife. O WHA my baby clouts' will buy? The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 1 Call.-2 Shall know.-3 In secret.-4 Oak.-5 Clothes.- Heed.-7 Fault - Malt.-9 Stool of repentance.-10 Talk to me in secret. OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. This song was written in honor of Mrs. Burns, during the honey-moon. OF a' the airts' the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west; For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: There wild-woods grow, and rivers row," And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. This song was also written in honor of Mrs. Burns, about the same time as the preceding. TUNE-My love is lost to me. Он, were I on Parnassus' hill! To sing how dear I love thee. And write how dear I love thee! How much-how dear I love thee. 1 Quaters of the heavens, i. e. east, west, north, or south.-2 Roll.—3 To cok with earnest and fixed attention.-4 Live-long. I see thee dancing o'er the green, By night, by day, a-field, at hame, Tho' I were doom'd to wander on, CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. Craigie-burn wood is situated on the banks of the river Moffat, about three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its medicinal waters. This wood, and that of Duncrieff, were at one time favorite haunts of Burns. It was there he met the "Lassie wi' the lint-white locks," and composed several of his songs. SWEET fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, I see the flowers and spreading trees, Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, If thou refuse to pity me, If thou shalt love anither, When yon green leaves fa' frae the tree, Slender.-2 Naught. MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. Burns composed this song to the beautiful air of "Macpherson's Farewell." Macpherson was a famous robber in the beginning of the last century, and was condemned to be hanged at the assizes at Inverness. His exploits, however, as a freebooter, were debased by no act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or the distressed; nor was any murder ever committed under his command. A dispute with one of his own troop, who wished to plunder a gentleman's house while his wife and two children lay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his being betrayed to the vengeance of the law. He was an admirable performer on the violin, and his talent for musical composition is evinced, not only in his "Rant" and "Pibroch," but also in his " Farewell," which he composed while he was in prison under sentence of death. He played his "Farewell" at the foot of the gallows; and then broke his violin over his knee. He died with the same fortitude as he had lived-a stranger to repentance, to remorse, and to fear. His sword is still preserved at Duff-house, a residence of the Earl of Fife. 1 TUNE-Macpherson's Farewell. FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, He play'd a spring1 and danced it round, Oh, what is death but parting breath? I've dared his face, and in this place Untie these bands from off my hands, And there's not a man in all Scotland, Sae rantingly, &c. I've lived a life of sturt2 and strife; It burns my heart I must depárt, And not avengéd be. Sae rantingly, &c. A quick air in music, a Scottish reel.-2 Trouble. |