And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's satin gown;

For I maun tell the baillie's wife
That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockins pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;

Gie little Kate her button gown
And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,

For he's been long awa.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop
Been fed this month and mair;

Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air;

His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet!

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45

50

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.

46.

And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae smile o' her wad banish care,
Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Hae pass'd atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part
That night she gaed awa!
The Powers aboon can only ken

To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean!

JOHN ANDERSON
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

R. Burns

CXCVII

5

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
That crown the watery glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way :

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!

Ah fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow

A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing

My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

D

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed

To chase the rolling circle's speed
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply

'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer, of vigour born ;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light

That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom
The little victims play;

No sense have they of ills to come
Nor care beyond to-day :

Yet see how all around 'em wait

The ministers of human fate

And black Misfortune's baleful train!

Ah show them where in ambush stand

To seize their prey, the murderous band!
Ah, tell them they are men !

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