Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (68 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
398.
O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest’s roar;
A waefu’ wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father’s ha’,
5
And a’ for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
Lord Gregory, mind’st thou not the grove
By bonie Irwine side,
10
Where first I own’d that virgin love
I lang, lang had denied.
How aften didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel’ sae true,
15
It ne’er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!
20
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see;
But spare and pardon my fause Love,
His wrangs to Heaven and me.
399.
Open the door to me, oh (Song)
OH, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh,
Tho’ thou hast been false, I’ll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh.
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
5
But caulder thy love for me, oh:
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh.
The wan Moon is setting beyond the white wave,
And Time is setting with me, oh:
10
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I’ll ne’er trouble them, nor thee, oh.
She has open’d the door, she has open’d it wide,
She sees the pale corse on the plain, oh:
“My true love!” she cried, and sank down by his side,
15
Never to rise again, oh.
400.
TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr;
But by the sweet side o’ the Nith’s winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
To equal young JESSIE seek Scotland all over;
5
To equal young JESSIE you seek it in vain,
Grace, beauty, and elegance, fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily, at evening close;
10
But in the fair presence o’ lovely young Jessie,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron’d in her een he delivers his law:
And still to her charms SHE alone is a stranger;
15
Her modest demeanour’s the jewel of a’.
401.
O KEN ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten,
An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten?
She gotten a coof wi’ a claut o’ siller,
And broken the heart o’ the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
5
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The laird was a widdifu’, bleerit knurl;
She’s left the gude fellow, and taen the churl.
The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving,
The lair did address her wi’ matter mair moving,
10
A fine pacing-horse wi’ a clear chained bridle,
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin’,
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen!
A tocher’s nae word in a true lover’s parle,
15
But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl’!
402.
Meg o’ the Mill (Another Version) (Song)
Another Version
O KEN ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten,
An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten?
A braw new naig wi’ the tail o’ a rottan,
And that’s what Meg o’ the Mill has gotten.
O ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly,
5
An’ ken ye what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly?
A dram o’ gude strunt in the morning early,
And that’s what Meg o’ the Mill lo’es dearly.
O ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was married,
An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was married?
10
The priest he was oxter’d, the clark he was carried,
And that’s how Meg o’ the Mill was married.
O ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded,
An’ ken ye how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded?
The groom gat sae fou’, he fell awald beside it,
15
And that’s how Meg o’ the Mill was bedded.
403.
The Soldier’s Return: A Ballad
Air
— “The Mill, mill, O.”
WHEN wild war’s deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi’ mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
5
Where lang I’d been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a’ my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.
A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain’d wi’ plunder;
10
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander:
I thought upon the banks o’ Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
15
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reach’d the bonie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass’d the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
20
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother’s dwelling!
And turn’d me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi’ alter’d voice, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
25
Sweet as yon hawthorn’s blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That’s dearest to thy bosom:
My purse is light, I’ve far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
30
I’ve serv’d my king and country lang —
Take pity on a sodger.”
Sae wistfully she gaz’d on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo’ she, “A sodger ance I lo’ed,
35
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge-the dear cockade,
Ye’re welcome for the sake o’t.”
40
She gaz’d — she redden’d like a rose —
Syne pale like only lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
“Art thou my ain dear Willie?”
“By him who made yon sun and sky!
45
By whom true love’s regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.
“The wars are o’er, and I’m come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
50
Tho’ poor in gear, we’re rich in love,
And mair we’se ne’er be parted.”
Quo’ she, “My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish’d fairly;
And come, my faithfu’ sodger lad,
55
Thou’rt welcome to it dearly!”
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger’s prize,
The sodger’s wealth is honor:
60
The brave poor sodger ne’er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he’s his country’s stay,
In day and hour of danger.
404.
Epigram — The True Loyal Natives
Versicles, A.D. 1793
YE true “Loyal Natives” attend to my song
In uproar and riot rejoice the night long;
From Envy and Hatred your corps is exempt,
But where is your shield from the darts of Contempt!
405.
Epigram — Commissary Goldie’s Brains
LORD, to account who dares thee call,
Or e’er dispute thy pleasure?
Else why, within so thick a wall,
Enclose so poor a treasure?
