And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Lucy dear.

III.

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr; But my delight in yon town, And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair.

IV.

Without my love, not a' the charms O' Paradise could yield me joy; But gie me Lucy in my arms, And welcome Lapland's dreary sky!

V.

My cave wad be a lover's bower, Tho' raging winter rent the air; And she a lovely little flower, That I wad tent and shelter there.

VI.

O sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon; A fairer than's in you town His setting beam ne'er shone upon.

VII.

If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suffering I am doom'd to bear; I careless quit aught else below, But spare me--spare me, Lucy dear!

VIII.

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 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 in yon town, Ye see the e'enin sun upon?

The fairest dame's in yon town That e'enin sun is shining on.

CLXIII.

O MAY, THY MORN.

Tune--_"May, thy morn."_

[Our lyrical legends a.s.sign the inspiration of this strain to the accomplished Clarinda. It has been omitted by Chambers in his "People's Edition" of Burns.]

I.

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet As the mirk night o' December; For sparkling was the rosy wine, And private was the chamber: And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember.

And dear was she I dare na name, But I will ay remember.

II.

And here's to them, that, like oursel, Can push about the jorum; And here's to them that wish us weel, May a' that's guid watch o'er them, And here's to them we dare na tell, The dearest o' the quorum.

Ami here's to them we dare na tell, The dearest o' the quorum!

CLXIV.

LOVELY POLLY STEWART.

Tune--_"Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart."_

[The poet's eye was on Polly Stewart, but his mind seems to have been with Charlie Stewart, and the Jacobite ballads, when he penned these words;--they are in the Museum.]

I.

O lovely Polly Stewart!

O charming Polly Stewart!

There's not a flower that blooms in May That's half so fair as thou art.

The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, And art can ne'er renew it; But worth and truth eternal youth Will give to Polly Stewart.

II.

May he whose arms shall fauld thy charms Possess a leal and true heart; To him be given to ken the heaven He grasps in Polly Stewart.

O lovely Polly Stewart!

O charming Polly Stewart!

There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May That's half so sweet as thou art.

CLXV.

THE HIGHLAND LADDIE.

Tune--_"If thou'lt play me fair play."_

[A long and wearisome ditty, called "The Highland Lad and Lowland La.s.sie," which Burns compressed into these stanzas, for Johnson's Museum.]

I.

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, Bonnie Highland laddie.

On his head a bonnet blue, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; His royal heart was firm and true, Bonnie Highland laddie.