Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (45 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
232.
Tune
— “Seventh of November.”
THE DAY returns, my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet:
Tho’ winter wild in tempest toil’d,
Ne’er summer-sun was half sae sweet.
Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,
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And crosses o’er the sultry line;
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,
Heav’n gave me more — it made thee mine!
While day and night can bring delight,
Or Nature aught of pleasure give;
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While joys above my mind can move,
For thee, and thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below
Comes in between to make us part,
The iron hand that breaks our band,
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It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart!
233.
O were I on Parnassus Hill (Song)
Tune
— “My love is lost to me.”
O, WERE I on Parnassus hill,
Or had o’ Helicon my fill,
That I might catch poetic skill,
To sing how dear I love thee!
But Nith maun be my Muse’s well,
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My Muse maun be thy bonie sel’,
On Corsincon I’ll glowr and spell,
And write how dear I love thee.
Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay!
For a’ the lee-lang simmer’s day
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I couldna sing, I couldna say,
How much, how dear, I love thee,
I see thee dancing o’er the green,
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een —
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By Heaven and Earth I love thee!
By night, by day, a-field, at hame,
The thoughts o’ thee my breast inflame:
And aye I muse and sing thy name —
I only live to love thee.
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Tho’ I were doom’d to wander on,
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
Till my last weary sand was run;
Till then — and then I love thee!
234.
A Mother’s Lament for her Son’s Death
For the Death of Her Son.
FATE gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc’d my darling’s heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops,
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In dust dishonour’d laid;
So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age’s future shade.
The mother-linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish’d young;
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So I, for my lost darling’s sake,
Lament the live-day long.
Death, oft I’ve feared thy fatal blow.
Now, fond, I bare my breast;
O, do thou kindly lay me low
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With him I love, at rest!
235.
THE LAZY mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
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And all the gay foppery of summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,
How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues!
How long I have liv’d — but how much liv’d in vain,
How little of life’s scanty span may remain,
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What aspects old Time in his progress has worn,
What ties cruel Fate, in my bosom has torn.
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain’d!
And downward, how weaken’d, how darken’d, how pain’d!
Life is not worth having with all it can give —
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For something beyond it poor man sure must live.
236.
I Reign in Jeanie’s Bosom (Song)
LOUIS, what reck I by thee,
Or Geordie on his ocean?
Dyvor, beggar louns to me,
I reign in Jeanie’s bosom!
Let her crown my love her law,
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And in her breast enthrone me,
Kings and nations — swith awa’!
Reif randies, I disown ye!
237.
It is na, Jean, thy Bonie Face (Song)
IT is na, Jean, thy bonie face,
Nor shape that I admire;
Altho’ thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awauk desire.
Something, in ilka part o’ thee,
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To praise, to love, I find,
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.
Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
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Than, if I canna make thee sae,
At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if heaven shall give
But happiness, to thee;
And as wi’ thee I’d wish to live,
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For thee I’d bear to die.
238.
SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!
Chorus.
— For auld lang syne, my dear,
5
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
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And we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
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But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
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But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
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And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.
239.
GO, fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink before I go,
A service to my bonie lassie.
The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith;
5
Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready:
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The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
The battle closes deep and bloody;
It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore,
Wad mak me langer wish to tarry!
Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar —
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It’s leaving thee, my bonie Mary!
240.
HUMID seal of soft affections,
Tenderest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of young connections,
Love’s first snowdrop, virgin kiss!
Speaking silence, dumb confession,
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Passion’s birth, and infant’s play,
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession,
Glowing dawn of future day!
Sorrowing joy, Adieu’s last action,
(Lingering lips must now disjoin),
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What words can ever speak affection
So thrilling and sincere as thine!
241.
Written in Friars’ Carse Hermitage (Second Version)
THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.
Life is but a day at most,
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Sprung from night, — in darkness lost;
Hope not sunshine ev’ry hour,
Fear not clouds will always lour.
As Youth and Love with sprightly dance,
Beneath thy morning star advance,
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Pleasure with her siren air
May delude the thoughtless pair;
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment’s cup,
Then raptur’d sip, and sip it up.
As thy day grows warm and high,
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Life’s meridian flaming nigh,
Dost thou spurn the humble vale?
Life’s proud summits wouldst thou scale?
Check thy climbing step, elate,
Evils lurk in felon wait:
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Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold,
Soar around each cliffy hold!
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song,
Chants the lowly dells among.
As the shades of ev’ning close,
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Beck’ning thee to long repose;
As life itself becomes disease,
Seek the chimney-nook of ease;
There ruminate with sober thought,
On all thou’st seen, and heard, and wrought,
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And teach the sportive younkers round,
Saws of experience, sage and sound:
Say, man’s true, genuine estimate,
The grand criterion of his fate,
Is not, — Arth thou high or low?
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Did thy fortune ebb or flow?
Did many talents gild thy span?
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one?
Tell them, and press it on their mind,
As thou thyself must shortly find,
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The smile or frown of awful Heav’n,
To virtue or to Vice is giv’n,
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise —
There solid self-enjoyment lies;
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways
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Lead to be wretched, vile, and base.
Thus resign’d and quiet, creep
To the bed of lasting sleep, —
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne’er awake,
Night, where dawn shall never break,
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Till future life, future no more,
To light and joy the good restore,
To light and joy unknown before.
Stranger, go! Heav’n be thy guide!
Quod the Beadsman of Nithside.
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