Song--Green Grow The Rashes

A Fragment

Chor.--Green grow the rashes, O; Green grow the rashes, O; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the la.s.ses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In ev'ry hour that pa.s.ses, O: What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the la.s.ses, O.

Green grow, &c.

The war'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O; An' tho' at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.

Green grow, &c.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, My arms about my dearie, O; An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

Green grow, &c.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; Ye're nought but senseless a.s.ses, O: The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, He dearly lov'd the la.s.ses, O.

Green grow, &c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears Her n.o.blest work she cla.s.ses, O: Her prentice han' she try'd on man, An' then she made the la.s.ses, O.

Green grow, &c.

Song--Wha Is That At My Bower-Door

Tune--"La.s.s, an I come near thee."

"Wha is that at my bower-door?"

"O wha is it but Findlay!"

"Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:"

"Indeed maun I," quo' Findlay; "What mak' ye, sae like a thief?"

"O come and see," quo' Findlay; "Before the morn ye'll work mischief:"

"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay.

"Gif I rise and let you in"-- "Let me in," quo' Findlay; "Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;"

"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay; "In my bower if ye should stay"-- "Let me stay," quo' Findlay; "I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;"

"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay.

"Here this night if ye remain"-- "I'll remain," quo' Findlay; "I dread ye'll learn the gate again;"

"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay.

"What may pa.s.s within this bower"-- "Let it pa.s.s," quo' Findlay; "Ye maun conceal till your last hour:"

"Indeed will I," quo' Findlay.

1784

Remorse: A Fragment

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish Beyond comparison the worst are those By our own folly, or our guilt brought on: In ev'ry other circ.u.mstance, the mind Has this to say, "It was no deed of mine:"

But, when to all the evil of misfortune This sting is added, "Blame thy foolish self!"

Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse, The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt-- Of guilt, perhaps, when we've involved others, The young, the innocent, who fondly lov'd us; Nay more, that very love their cause of ruin!

O burning h.e.l.l! in all thy store of torments There's not a keener lash!

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, Can reason down its agonizing throbs; And, after proper purpose of amendment, Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace?

O happy, happy, enviable man!

O glorious magnanimity of soul!

Epitaph On Wm. Hood, Senr., In Tarbolton

Here Souter Hood in death does sleep; To h.e.l.l if he's gane thither, Satan, gie him thy gear to keep; He'll haud it weel thegither.

Epitaph On James Grieve, Laird Of Boghead, Tarbolton

Here lies Boghead amang the dead In hopes to get salvation; But if such as he in Heav'n may be, Then welcome, hail! d.a.m.nation.

Epitaph On My Own Friend And My Father's Friend, Wm. Muir In Tarbolton Mill

An honest man here lies at rest As e'er G.o.d with his image blest; The friend of man, the friend of truth, The friend of age, and guide of youth: Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd, Few heads with knowledge so informed: If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this.

Epitaph On My Ever Honoured Father

O ye whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend!

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, The tender father, and the gen'rous friend; The pitying heart that felt for human woe, The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride; The friend of man--to vice alone a foe; For "ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."^1

[Footnote 1: Goldsmith.--R.B.]

Ballad On The American War