LX.

BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.

Tune--"_Neil Gow's Lamentations for Abercairny._"

["This song," says the poet, "I composed on one of the most accomplished of women, Miss Peggy Chalmers that was, now Mrs. Lewis Hay, of Forbes and Co.'s bank, Edinburgh." She now lives at Pau, in the south of France.]

I.

Where, braving angry winter's storms, The lofty Ochels rise, Far in their shade my Peggy's charms First blest my wondering eyes; As one who by some savage stream, A lonely gem surveys, Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, With art's most polish'd blaze.

II.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade, And blest the day and hour, Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd, When first I felt their power!

The tyrant Death, with grim control, May seize my fleeting breath; But tearing Peggy from my soul Must be a stronger death.

LXI.

TIBBIE DUNBAR.

Tune--"_Johnny M'Gill._"

[We owe the air of this song to one Johnny M'Gill, a fiddler of Girvan, who bestowed his own name on it: and the song itself partly to Burns and partly to some unknown minstrel. They are both in the Museum.]

I.

O, Wilt thou go wi' me, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

O, wilt thou go wi' me, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

Wilt thou ride on a horse, Or be drawn in a car, Or walk by my side, O, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

II.

I care na thy daddie, His lands and his money, I care na thy kindred, Sae high and sae lordly: But say thou wilt hae me For better for waur-- And come in thy coatie, Sweet Tibbie Dunbar!

LXII.

STREAMS THAT GLIDE IN ORIENT PLAINS.

Tune--"_Morag._"

[We owe these verses to the too brief visit which the poet, in 1787, made to Gordon Castle: he was hurried away, much against his will, by his moody and obstinate friend William Nicol.]

I.

Streams that glide in orient plains, Never bound by winter's chains; Glowing here on golden sands, There commix'd with foulest stains From tyranny's empurpled bands; These, their richly gleaming waves, I leave to tyrants and their slaves; Give me the stream that sweetly laves The banks by Castle-Gordon.

II.

Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray, Hapless wretches sold to toil, Or the ruthless native's way, Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil: Woods that ever verdant wave, I leave the tyrant and the slave, Give me the groves that lofty brave The storms by Castle-Gordon.

III.

Wildly here without control, Nature reigns and rules the whole; In that sober pensive mood, Dearest to the feeling soul, She plants the forest, pours the flood; Life's poor day I'll musing rave, And find at night a sheltering cave, Where waters flow and wild woods wave, By bonnie Castle-Gordon.

LXIII.

MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY.

Tune--"_Highland's Lament._"

["The chorus," says Burns, "I picked up from an old woman in Dumblane: the rest of the song is mine." He composed it for Johnson: the tone is Jacobitical.]

I.

My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strode he on the plain: But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again, O for him back again!

O for him back again!

I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again.

II.

When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen; I set me down and greet my fill, And ay I wish him back again.

III.

O were some villains hangit high.

And ilka body had their ain!

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, My Highland Harry back again.

O for him back again!

O for him back again!