Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) (80 page)
Read Delphi Complete Works of Robert Burns (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Online
Authors: Robert Burns
514.
The Lass o’ Ecclefechan (Song)
Tune
— “Jack o’ Latin.”
GAT ye me, O gat ye me,
O gat ye me wi’ naething?
Rock an reel, and spinning wheel,
A mickle quarter basin:
Bye attour my Gutcher has
5
A heich house and a laich ane,
A’ forbye my bonie sel,
The toss o’ Ecclefechan.
O haud your tongue now, Lucky Lang,
O haud your tongue and jauner
10
I held the gate till you I met,
Syne I began to wander:
I tint my whistle and my sang,
I tint my peace and pleasure;
But your green graff, now Lucky Lang,
15
Wad airt me to my treasure.
515.
O let me in this ae night (Song)
O LASSIE, are ye sleepin yet,
Or are ye waukin, I wad wit?
For Love has bound me hand an’ fit,
And I would fain be in, jo.
Chorus.
— O let me in this ae night,
5
This ae, ae, ae night;
O let me in this ae night,
I’ll no come back again, jo!
O hear’st thou not the wind an’ weet?
Nae star blinks thro’ the driving sleet;
10
Tak pity on my weary feet,
And shield me frae the rain, jo.
O let me in, &c.
The bitter blast that round me blaws,
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa’s;
15
The cauldness o’ thy heart’s the cause
Of a’ my care and pine, jo.
O let me in, &c.
HER ANSWER
O tell na me o’ wind an’ rain,
Upbraid na me wi’ cauld disdain,
20
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
I winna let ye in, jo.
Chorus.
— I tell you now this ae night,
This ae, ae, ae night;
And ance for a’ this ae night,
25
I winna let ye 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.
30
I tell you now, &c.
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.
35
I tell you now, &c.
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!
40
I tell you now, &c.
516.
I’ll aye ca’ in by yon town (Song)
Air
— “I’ll gang nae mair to yon toun.”
Chorus
— I’ll aye ca’ in by yon town,
And by yon garden-green again;
I’ll aye ca’ in by yon town,
And see my bonie Jean again.
THERE’S nane sall ken, there’s nane can guess
5
What brings me back the gate again,
But she, my fairest faithfu’ lass,
And stownlins we sall meet again.
I’ll aye ca’ in, &c.
She’ll wander by the aiken tree,
10
When trystin time draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
O haith! she’s doubly dear again.
I’ll aye ca’ in, &c.
517.
O wat ye wha’s in yon town (Song)
Tune
— “I’ll gang nae mair to yon toun.”
Chorus
— O wat ye wha’s in yon town,
Ye see the e’enin sun upon,
The dearest maid’s in yon town,
That e’ening sun is shining on.
NOW haply down yon gay green shaw,
5
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o’ her e’e!
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
10
And welcome in the blooming year;
And doubly welcome be the Spring,
The season to my Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
15
Among the broomy braes sae green;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
Without my Fair, not a’ the charms
20
O’ Paradise could yield me joy;
But give me Jeanie in my arms
And welcome Lapland’s dreary sky!
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
My cave wad be a lover’s bower,
25
Tho’ raging Winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
O sweet is she in yon town,
30
The sinkin, sun’s gane down upon;
A fairer than’s in yon town,
His setting beam ne’er shone upon.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
If angry Fate is sworn my foe,
35
And suff’ring I am doom’d to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare, O spare me Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
For while life’s dearest blood is warm,
40
Ae thought frae her shall ne’er depart,
And she, as fairest is her form,
She has the truest, kindest heart.
O wat ye wha’s, &c.
518.
Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election — No. 1
Ballads on Mr. Heron’s Election, 1795.
WHOM will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a’ that?
Or wha in a’ the country round
The best deserves to fa’ that?
For a’ that, and a’ that,
5
Thro’ Galloway and a’ that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa’ that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree’s open yett,
(And wha is’t never saw that?)
10
Wha ever wi’ Kerroughtree met,
And has a doubt of a’ that?
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Here’s Heron yet for a’ that!
The independent patriot,
15
The honest man, and a’ that.
Tho’ wit and worth, in either sex,
Saint Mary’s Isle can shaw that,
Wi’ Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa’ that.
20
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Here’s Heron yet for a’ that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a’ that.
But why should we to Nobles jouk,
25
And is’t against the law, that?
For why, a Lord may be a gowk,
Wi’ ribband, star and a’ that,
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Here’s Heron yet for a’ that!
30
A Lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi’ ribband, star and a’ that.
A beardless boy comes o’er the hills,
Wi’ uncle’s purse and a’ that;
But we’ll hae ane frae mang oursels,
35
A man we ken, and a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Here’s Heron yet for a’ that!
For we’re not to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, and nowt, and a’ that.
40
Then let us drink — The Stewartry,
Kerroughtree’s laird, and a’ that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he’s worthy a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
45
Here’s Heron yet for a’ that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
519.
Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election — No. 2
Tune
— “Fy, let us a’ to the Bridal.”
FY, let us a’ to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin’ there;
For Murray’s light horse are to muster,
And O how the heroes will swear!
And there will be Murray, Commander,
5
And Gordon, the battle to win;
Like brothers they’ll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance and kin.
And there will be black-nebbit Johnie,
The tongue o’ the trump to them a’;
10
An he get na Hell for his haddin’,
The Deil gets na justice ava.
And there will be Kempleton’s birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane;
But as to his fine Nabob fortune,
15
We’ll e’en let the subject alane.
And there will be Wigton’s new Sheriff;
Dame Justice fu’ brawly has sped,
She’s gotten the heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord! what’s become o’ the head?
20
And there will be Cardoness, Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness’ eyes;
A wight that will weather damnation,
The Devil the prey will despise.
And there will be Douglasses doughty,
25
New christening towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissin’ the —— o’ a Peer:
And there will be folk frae Saint Mary’s
A house o’ great merit and note;
30
The deil ane but honours them highly —
The deil ane will gie them his vote!
And there will be Kenmure sae gen’rous,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation,
35
He lent them his name in the Firm.
And there will be lads o’ the gospel,
Muirhead wha’s as gude as he’s true;
And there will be Buittle’s Apostle,
Wha’s mair o’ the black than the blue.
40
And there will be Logan M’Dowall,
Sculdudd’ry an’ he will be there,
And also the Wild Scot o’ Galloway,
Sogering, gunpowder Blair.
But we winna mention Redcastle,
45
The body, e’en let him escape!
He’d venture the gallows for siller,
An ‘twere na the cost o’ the rape.
But where is the Doggerbank hero,
That made “Hogan Mogan” to skulk?
50
Poor Keith’s gane to hell to be fuel,
The auld rotten wreck of a Hulk.
And where is our King’s Lord Lieutenant,
Sae fam’d for his gratefu’ return?
The birkie is gettin’ his Questions
55
To say in Saint Stephen’s the morn.
But mark ye! there’s trusty Kerroughtree,
Whose honor was ever his law;
If the Virtues were pack’d in a parcel,
His worth might be sample for a’;
60
And strang an’ respectfu’s his backing,
The maist o’ the lairds wi’ him stand;
Nae gipsy-like nominal barons,
Wha’s property’s paper — not land.
And there, frae the Niddisdale borders,
65
The Maxwells will gather in droves,
Teugh Jockie, staunch Geordie, an’ Wellwood,
That griens for the fishes and loaves;
And there will be Heron, the Major,
Wha’ll ne’er be forgot in the Greys;
70
Our flatt’ry we’ll keep for some other,
HIM, only it’s justice to praise.
And there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming’s gude Knight,
And there will be roarin Birtwhistle,
75
Yet luckily roars i’ the right.
And there’ll be Stamp Office Johnie,
(Tak tent how ye purchase a dram!)
And there will be gay Cassencarry,
And there’ll be gleg Colonel Tam.
80
And there’ll be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck,
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing —
His merit had won him respect.
And there will be rich brother Nabobs,
85
(Tho’ Nabobs, yet men not the worst,)
And there will be Collieston’s whiskers,
And Quintin — a lad o’ the first.
Then hey! the chaste Interest o’ Broughton
And hey! for the blessin’s ‘twill bring;
90
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom ‘twould make him a king;
And hey! for the sanctified Murray,
Our land wha wi’ chapels has stor’d;
He founder’d his horse among harlots,
95
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.
