Poems and Songs of Robert Burns

To the sun-brown’d Arab’s lip. But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no vagrant insect, rove; O let me steal one liquid kiss, For Oh! my soul is parch’d with love. The Gard’ner Wi’ His Paidle Tune—“The Gardener’s March.” When rosy May comes in wi’ flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers, Then busy, busy are his hours, The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle. The crystal waters gently fa’, The merry bards are lovers a’, The scented breezes round him blaw— The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle. When purple morning starts the hare To steal upon her early fare; Then thro’ the dews he maun repair— The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle. When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o’ Nature’s rest, He flies to her arms he lo’es the best, The Gard’ner wi’ his paidle. On A Bank Of Flowers On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, For summer lightly drest, The youthful, blooming Nelly lay, With love and sleep opprest; When Willie, wand’ring thro’ the wood, Who for her favour oft had sued; He gaz’d, he wish’d He fear’d, he blush’d, And trembled where he stood. Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath’d, Were seal’d in soft repose; Her lip, still as she fragrant breath’d, It richer dyed the rose; The springing lilies, sweetly prest, Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast; He gaz’d, he wish’d, He mear’d, he blush’d, His bosom ill at rest. Her robes, light-waving in the breeze, Her tender limbs embrace; Her lovely form, her native ease, All harmony and grace; Tumultuous tides his pulses roll, A faltering, ardent kiss he stole; He gaz’d, he wish’d, He fear’d, he blush’d, And sigh’d his very soul. As flies the partridge from the brake, On fear-inspired wings, So Nelly, starting, half-awake, Away affrighted springs; But Willie follow’d—as he should, He overtook her in the wood; He vow’d, he pray’d, He found the maid Forgiving all, and good. Young Jockie Was The Blythest Lad Young Jockie was the blythest lad, In a’ our town or here awa; Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud, Fu’ lightly danc’d he in the ha’. He roos’d my een sae bonie blue, He roos’d my waist sae genty sma’; An’ aye my heart cam to my mou’, When ne’er a body heard or saw. My Jockie toils upon the plain, Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw: And o’er the lea I leuk fu’ fain, When Jockie’s owsen hameward ca’. An’ aye the night comes round again, When in his arms he taks me a’; An’ aye he vows he’ll be my ain, As lang’s he has a breath to draw. The Banks Of Nith The Thames flows proudly to the sea, Where royal cities stately stand; But sweeter flows the Nith to me, Where Comyns ance had high command. When shall I see that honour’d land, That winding stream I love so dear! Must wayward Fortune’s adverse hand For ever, ever keep me here! How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom; And sweetly spread thy sloping dales, Where lambkins wanton through the broom. Tho’ wandering now must be my doom, Far from thy bonie banks and braes, May there my latest hours consume, Amang the friends of early days! Jamie, Come Try Me Chorus.—Jamie, come try me, Jamie, come try me, If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me. If thou should ask my love, Could I deny thee? If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me! Jamie, come try me, &c. If thou should kiss me, love, Wha could espy thee? If thou wad be my love, Jamie, come try me! Jamie, come try me, &c. I Love My Love In Secret My Sandy gied to me a ring, Was a’ beset wi’ diamonds fine; But I gied him a far better thing, I gied my heart in pledge o’ his ring. Chorus.—My Sandy O, my Sandy O, My bonie, bonie Sandy O; Tho’ the love that I owe To thee I dare na show, Yet I love my love in secret, my Sandy O. My Sandy brak a piece o’ gowd, While down his cheeks the saut tears row’d; He took a hauf, and gied it to me, And I’ll keep it till the hour I die. My Sand O, &c. Sweet Tibbie Dunbar O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? O wilt thou go wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car, Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar? I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money, I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly; But sae that thou’lt hae me for better for waur, And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar. The Captain’s Lady Chorus.—O mount and go, mount and make you ready, O mount and go, and be the Captain’s lady. When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle, Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle: When the drums do beat, and the cannons rattle, Thou shalt sit in state, and see thy love in battle. O mount and go, &c. When the vanquish’d foe sues for peace and quiet, To the shades we’ll go, and in love enjoy it: When the vanquish’d foe sues for peace and quiet, To the shades we’ll go, and in love enjoy it. O mount and go, &c. John Anderson, My Jo John Anderson, my jo, John, When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And mony a cantie day, John, We’ve had wi’ ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we’ll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. My Love, She’s But A Lassie Yet My love, she’s but a lassie yet, My love, she’s but a lassie yet; We’ll let her stand a year or twa, She’ll no be half sae saucy yet; I rue the day I sought her, O! I rue the day I sought her, O! Wha gets her needs na say she’s woo’d, But he may say he’s bought her, O. Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet, Come, draw a drap o’ the best o’t yet, Gae seek for pleasure whare you will, But here I never miss’d it yet, We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t, We’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t; The minister kiss’d the fiddler’s wife; He could na preach for thinkin o’t. Song—Tam Glen My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie, Some counsel unto me come len’, To anger them a’ is a pity, But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow, In poortith I might mak a fen; What care I in riches to wallow, If I maunna marry Tam Glen! There’s Lowrie the Laird o’ Dumeller— “Gude day to you, brute!” he comes ben: He brags and he blaws o’ his siller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen! My minnie does constantly deave me, And bids me beware o’ young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me, But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen! My daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him, He’d gie me gude hunder marks ten; But, if it’s ordain’d I maun take him, O wha will I get but Tam Glen! Yestreen at the Valentine’s dealing, My heart to my mou’ gied a sten’; For thrice I drew ane without failing, And thrice it was written “Tam Glen”! The last Halloween I was waukin My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken, His likeness came up the house staukin, And the very grey breeks o’ Tam Glen! Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry; I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen, Gif ye will advise me to marry The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen. Carle, An The King Come Chorus.—Carle, an the King come, Carle, an the King come, Thou shalt dance and I will sing, Carle, an the King come. An somebody were come again, Then somebody maun cross the main, And every man shall hae his ain, Carle, an the King come. Carle, an the King come, &c. I trow we swapped for the worse, We gae the boot and better horse; And that we’ll tell them at the cross, Carle, an the King come. Carle, an the King come, &c. Coggie, an the King come, Coggie, an the King come, I’se be fou, and thou’se be toom Coggie, an the King come. Coggie, an the King come, &c. The Laddie’s Dear Sel’ There’s a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lassies should wander awa’; For he’s bonie and braw, weel-favor’d witha’, An’ his hair has a natural buckle an’ a’. His coat is the hue o’ his bonnet sae blue, His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose they are blae, and his shoon like the slae, And his clear siller buckles, they dazzle us a’. For beauty and fortune the laddie’s been courtin; Weel-featur’d, weel-tocher’d, weel-mounted an’ braw; But chiefly the siller that gars him gang till her, The penny’s the jewel that beautifies a’. There’s Meg wi’ the mailen that fain wad a haen him, And Susie, wha’s daddie was laird o’ the Ha’; There’s lang-tocher’d Nancy maist fetters his fancy, —But the laddie’s dear sel’, he loes dearest of a’. Whistle O’er The Lave O’t First when Maggie was my care, Heav’n, I thought, was in her air, Now we’re married—speir nae mair, But whistle o’er the lave o’t! Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Sweet and harmless as a child— Wiser men than me’s beguil’d; Whistle o’er the lave o’t! How we live, my Meg and me, How we love, and how we gree, I care na by how few may see— Whistle o’er the lave o’t! Wha I wish were maggot’s meat, Dish’d up in her winding-sheet, I could write—but Meg maun see’t— Whistle o’er the lave o’t! My Eppie Adair Chorus.—An’ O my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie, Wha wad na be happy wi’ Eppie Adair? By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! By love, and by beauty, by law, and by duty, I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! And O my Eppie, &c. A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, If e’er I beguile ye, my Eppie Adair! A’ pleasure exile me, dishonour defile me, If e’er I beguile thee, my Eppie Adair! And O my Eppie, &c. On The Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations Thro’ Scotland Collecting The Antiquities Of That Kingdom Hear, Land o’ Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnie Groat’s;— If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede you tent it: A chield’s amang you takin notes, And, faith, he’ll prent it: If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat fodgel wight, O’ stature short, but genius bright, That’s he, mark weel; And wow! he has an unco sleight O’ cauk and keel. By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin, Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It’s ten to ane ye’ll find him snug in Some eldritch part, Wi’ deils, they say, Lord save’s! colleaguin At some black art.