The Poetical and Prose Works of Robert Burns

FAREWELL THOU STREAM THAT WINDING FLOWS.

Let not Woman e'er Complain.

TUNE-Duncan Gray.

LET not woman e'er complain

Of inconstancy in love;
Let not woman e'er complain

Fickle man is apt to rove.
Look abroad through Nature's range,
Nature's mighty law is change ;
Ladies, would it not be strange,

Man should then a monster prove?
Mark the winds, and mark the skies;
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow:
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go.
Why then ask of silly man
To oppose great Nature's plan?
We'll be constant while we can-
You can be no more, you know.

ཀ

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay,

And o'er the cottage sings:

For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.
Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string
In lordly lighted ha':

The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe, in the birken shaw.
The princely revel may survey

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ;
But are their hearts as light as ours
Beneath the milk-white thorn?
The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo;
The courtier tells a finer tale,

But is his heart as true?

237

These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine :

The courtier's gems may witness love-
But 'tis na love like mine,

Sleep'st Chon, or Wak'st Thou? (371) | 3t was the Charming Month of May.

And by the reeking floods,

(372)

TUNE-Dainty Davie.

Ir was the charming month of May,
When all the flow'rs were fresh and
One morning, by the break of day,

The youthful, charming Chloe,—
From peaceful slumber she arose,
Girt on her mantle and her hose,

gay,

Wild Nature's tenants, freely, gladly stray: And o'er the flow'ry mead she goes,—

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower,

The lav'rock to the sky

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus gilding the brow o' morning,

Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature gladd'ning and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When absent from my fair,
The murky shades o' care

With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky;
But when in beauty's light,
She meets my ravish'd sight,
When through my very heart
Her beaming glories dart,

"Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy.

My Chloris, mark how Green the Graurs.
TUNE-My lodging is on the cold ground.
Mr Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.

The youthful, charming Chloe.

CHORUS.

Lovely was she by the dawn,
Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe.
Tripping o'er the pearly lawn,

The youthful, charming Chloe.
The feather'd people, you might see
Perch'd all around on every tree,
In notes of sweetest melody,

They hail the charming Chloe;
Till, painting gay the eastern skies,
The glorious sun began to rise,
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes
Of youthful, charming Chloe.
Lovely was she, &c.

Farewell, than stream that Winding
Flows.

TUNE-Nancy's to the greenwood gane.
FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!

Oh mem'ry! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,

Nor dare disclose my anguish.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover:
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But, oh! Eliza, hear one prayer,
For pity's sake, forgive me!
The music of thy voice I heard,

Nor wist while it enslaved me;

I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had sav'd me.
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast,

The wheeling torrent viewing,
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.

Lassie wi' the lint-white Locks.

TUNE-Rothiemurche's Rant.

CHORUS.

LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks,

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
Wilt thou be my dearie O?
Now Nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee:
Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie (?

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.
And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie O.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, The weary shearer's hameward way, Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, And talk o' love, my dearie O.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c. And when the howling wintry blast Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, Enclasped to my faithful breast,

I'll comfort thee, my dearie O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.

Philly and Willy.

TUNE-The Sow's Tail.

WILLY.

Оn Philly, happy be that day

When roving through the gather'd hay, My youthfu' heart was stown away,

And by thy charms, my Philly.

PHILLY.

Oh Willy, aye I bless the grove
Where first I own'd my maiden love,
Whilst thou didst pledge the powers above
To be my ain dear Willy.

WILLY.

As songsters of the early year
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
So ilka day to me mair dear
And charming is my Philly.

PHILLY.

As on the briar the budding rose
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.

WILLY.

The milder sun and bluer sky,
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye
As is a sight o' Philly.

PHILLY.

The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring,
As meeting o' my Willy.

WILLY.

The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly.

PHILLY.

The woodbine in the dewy weet,
When evening shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.

WILLY.

Let fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and kuaves may win;
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ane dear Philly.

PHILLY.

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
I care nae wealth a single flie
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.

Contented wi' Little.

TUNE-Lumps o' Pudding.

CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,

I gie them a skelp as they're creepin' alang, Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish

sang.

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesom

thought;

But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch,

And my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch
dare touch.

A townmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blythe end of our journey at
last,
[past?
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road Le has
Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on

her way:

[gae: Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade Come ease, or come travail: come pleasure, or pain, [again!" My warst word is-" Welcome, and welcome

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that:
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he maunna fa' that.
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that.

Can'st thou Leave me Thus, my Katy. For a' that, and a' that,

(373)

TUNE-Roy's Wife.

CHORUS.

CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And caust thou leave me thus for pity?

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,

Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? Is this thy faithful swain's reward

An aching, broken heart, my Katy? Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear

That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy.

For a' That, and a' That.

Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, (374)
The man's the goud for a' that.
What tho' on hamely fare we dine.

Wear hoddin grey, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

My Nannie's Awa.
TUNE-There'll never be peace, &c.

Now in her green mantle blythe nature
arrays,
[braes,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the
While birds warble welcome in ilka green
shaw;

But to me it's delightless-my Nannie's awa.
The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands
adorn,

And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,

They mind me o' Nannie-and Nannie's awa. Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,

[dawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa',

Give over for pity-my Nannie's awa.

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and

grey,

And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay;
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving

snaw,

Alane can delight me-now Nannie's awa,

Craigirburn Wood, (375)
TUNE-Craigieburn wood.
SWEET fa's the eve on Craigieburn,
And blythe awakes the morrow;
But a' the pride o' spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.

I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And care his bosom wringing?

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,

Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.

If thou refuse to pity me,

If thou shalt love anither,

When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, Around my grave they'll wither. (376)

Oh Lassie art than Slerping get?

TUNE-Let me in this ane Night.

OH lassie art thou sleeping yet?
Or art thou wakin', I would wit?
For love has bound me hand and foot,
And I would fain be in, jo.

CHORUS.

Oh let me in this ane night,
This ane, ane, ane night;
For pity's sake this ane night,

Oh rise and let me in, jo!

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet; Tak pity on my weary feet,

And shield me frae the rain, jo.

The bitter blast that round me blaws
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's;
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause
Of a' my grief and pain, jo.

Reply to the Foregoing.

Oн tell na me o' wind and rain,
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain;
Gae back the gait ye cam again,
I winna let you in, jo !

CHORUS.

I tell you now this ane night, This ane, ane, ane night; And ance for a' this ane night, I winna let you in, jo.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours,
That round the pathless wand'rer pours,
Is nocht to what poor she endures,
That's trusted faithless man, jo.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead
Now trodden like the vilest weed;
Let simple maid the lesson read,
The weird may be her ain, jo.
The bird that charm'd his summer- day,
Is now the cruel fowler's prey;
Let witless, trusting, woman say
How aft her fate's the same, jo.

Address to the Woodlark,
TUNE-Where'll bonnie Ann lie? or, Loch-
Eroch Side.

Oн stay, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay,
Nor quit for me the trembling spray,
A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part,
That I may catch thy melting art:
For surely that wad touch her heart,
Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

Say, was thy little mate unkind,
And heard thee as the careless wind?
Oh! nocht but love and sorrow join'd,
Sic notes o' woe could wauken.
Thou tells o' never-ending care:
O' speechless grief, and dark despair;
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair,
Or my poor heart is broken!

On Chloris hring TUNE-Aye wakin O.

CHORUS.

LONG, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.

Can I cease to care,
Can I cease to languish,
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish?

Every hope is fled,

Every fear is terror; Slumber even I dread, Every dream is horror,

OH THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE.

241

Hear me, Pow'rs divine!

Oh! in pity hear me !

Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!

Their Graves a' Sweet Myrtle.

TUNE-Humours of Glen.

lands reckon,

THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign [perfume; Where bright-beaming summers exalt the Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, [broom. Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, [unseen : Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, [Jean. A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies,

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, [and slave!

What are they?-the haunt of the tyrant

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling

fountains,

Bow Cruel are the Par ats.

ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG.

TUNE-John Anderson my Jo.

How cruel are the parents,

Who riches only prize:
And to the wealthy booby,
Poor woman sacrifice!
Meanwhile the hapless daughter
Has but a choice of strife ;-
To shun a tyrant father's hate,
Become a wretched wife.
The rav'ning hawk pursuing,
The trembling dove thus flies,
To shun impelling ruin

Awhile her pinion tries:
Till of escape despairing,

No shelter or retreat,
She trusts the ruthless falconer,
And drops beneath his feet.

TUNE-Laddie, lie near me.

'TWAS na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: "Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, [o' kindness. 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me; Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love the dearest! And thou'rt the angel that never can alter, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Oh this is no my Ain Lassie. TUNE-This is no my ain House.

CHORUS.

Oн this is no my ain lassie,

Fair tho' the lassie be! Oh weel ken I my ain lassie, Kind love is in her ee.

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The Poetical and Prose Works of Robert Burns: With Life, Notes and ...