Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (71 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
427.
Whistle and I’ll come to you (Song)
Chorus.
— O WHISTLE, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad,
Tho’ father an’ mother an’ a’ should gae mad,
O whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad.
But warily tent when ye come to court me,
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And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin’ to me,
And come as ye were na comin’ to me.
O whistle an’ I’ll come, &c.
10
At kirk, or at market, whene’er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho’ that ye car’d na a flie;
But steal me a blink o’ your bonie black e’e,
Yet look as ye were na lookin’ to me,
Yet look as ye were na lookin’ to me.
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O whistle an’ I’ll come, &c.
Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me,
And whiles ye may lightly my beauty a-wee;
But court na anither, tho’ jokin’ ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me,
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For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.
O whistle an’ I’ll come, &c.
428.
Phillis the Queen o’ the fair (Song)
Tune
— “The Muckin o’ Geordie’s Byre.”
ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,
To mark the sweet flowers as they spring;
Adown winding Nith I did wander,
Of Phillis to muse and to sing.
Chorus.
— Awa’ wi’ your belles and your beauties,
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They never wi’ her can compare,
Whaever has met wi’ my Phillis,
Has met wi’ the queen o’ the fair.
The daisy amus’d my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
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Thou emblem, said I, o’ my Phillis —
For she is Simplicity’s child.
Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c.
The rose-bud’s the blush o’ my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when ‘tis prest:
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How fair and how pure is the lily!
But fairer and purer her breast.
Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c.
Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,
They ne’er wi’ my Phillis can vie:
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Her breath is the breath of the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o’ diamond her eye.
Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c.
Her voice is the song o’ the morning,
That wakes thro’ the green-spreading grove
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When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.
Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c.
But beauty, how frail and how fleeting!
The bloom of a fine summer’s day;
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While worth in the mind o’ my Phillis,
Will flourish without a decay.
Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c.
429.
Come let me take thee to my breast (Song)
COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne’er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust
The world’s wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own
5
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone,
That I may live to love her.
Thus, in my arms, wi’ a’ her charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
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I’ll seek nae main o’ Heav’n to share,
Tha sic a moment’s pleasure:
And by thy e’en sae bonie blue,
I swear I’m thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
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And break it shall I never.
430.
NOW rosy May comes in wi’ flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers;
And now comes in the happy hours,
To wander wi’ my Davie.
Chorus.
— Meet me on the warlock knowe,
5
Dainty Davie, Dainty Davie;
There I’ll spend the day wi’ you,
My ain dear Dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa’,
The merry birds are lovers a’,
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The scented breezes round us blaw,
A wandering wi’ my Davie.
Meet me on, &c.
As purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
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Then thro’ the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu’ Davie.
Meet me on, &c.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o’ Nature’s rest,
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I flee to his arms I loe’ the best,
And that’s my ain dear Davie.
Meet me on, &c.
431.
Robert Bruce’s March to Bannockburn (Song)
SCOTS, wha hae wi’ WALLACE bled,
Scots, wham BRUCE has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to Victorie!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
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See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud EDWARD’S power —
Chains and Slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
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Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha, for Scotland’s King and Law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
FREE-MAN stand, or FREE-MAN fa’,
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Let him on wi’ me!
By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
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Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
LIBERTY’S in every blow! —
Let us Do or Die!
432.
Behold the hour, etc. (Second Version) (Song)
BEHOLD the hour, the boat arrive;
Thou goest, the darling of my heart;
Sever’d from thee, can I survive,
But Fate has will’d and we must part.
I’ll often greet the surging swell,
5
Yon distant Isle will often hail:
“E’en here I took the last farewell;
There, latest mark’d her vanish’d sail.”
Along the solitary shore,
While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
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Across the rolling, dashing roar,
I’ll westward turn my wistful eye:
“Happy thou Indian grove,” I’ll say,
“Where now my Nancy’s path may be!
While thro’ thy sweets she loves to stray,
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O tell me, does she muse on me!”
433.
Down the Burn, Davie love (Song)
AS down the burn they took their way,
And thro’ the flowery dale;
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
And love was aye the tale:
With “Mary, when shall we return,
5
Sic pleasure to renew?”
Quoth Mary— “Love, I like the burn,
And aye shall follow you.”
434.
Thou hast left me ever, jamie (Song)
Tune
— “Fee him, father, fee him.”
THOU hast left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever;
Thou has left me ever, Jamie,
Thou hast left me ever:
Aften hast thou vow’d that Death
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Only should us sever;
Now thou’st left thy lass for aye —
I maun see thee never, Jamie,
I’ll see thee never.
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
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Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie,
Thou hast me forsaken;
Thou canst love another jo,
While my heart is breaking;
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Soon my weary een I’ll close,
Never mair to waken, Jamie,
Never mair to waken!
435.
Where are the Joys I have met (Song)
Tune
— “Saw ye my father.”
WHERE are the joys I have met in the morning,
That danc’d to the lark’s early song?
Where is the peace that awaited my wand’ring,
At evening the wild-woods among?
No more a winding the course of yon river,
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And marking sweet flowerets so fair,
No more I trace the light footsteps of Pleasure,
But Sorrow and sad-sighing Care.
Is it that Summer’s forsaken our valleys,
And grim, surly Winter is near?
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No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses
Proclaim it the pride of the year.
Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long, too well have I known;
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
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Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone.
Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor Hope dare a comfort bestow:
Come then, enamour’d and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I’ll seek in my woe.
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