I.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie la.s.sie, his darling and mine.

II.

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay; As blythe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

III.

But oh! she's an heiress,--auld Robin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; A wooer like me mamma hope to come speed; The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

IV.

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane: I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

V.

O had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me!

O, how past descriving had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express!

CLx.x.xIV.

DUNCAN GRAY.

[This Duncan Gray of Burns, has nothing in common with the wild old song of that name, save the first line, and a part of the third, neither has it any share in the sentiments of an earlier strain, with the same t.i.tle, by the same hand. It was written for the work of Thomson.]

I.

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; On blythe yule night when we were fou, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

II.

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn; Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

III.

Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie die?

She may gae to--France for me!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

IV.

How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg grew sick--as he grew heal, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings: And O, her een, they spak sic things!

Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

V.

Duncan was a lad o' grace.

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith, Ha, ha, the wooing o't.

CLx.x.xV.

O POORt.i.tH CAULD.

Tune--"_I had a horse._"

[Jean Lorimer, the Chloris and the "La.s.sie with the lint-white locks"

of Burns, was the heroine of this exquisite lyric: she was at that time very young; her shape was fine, and her "dimpled cheek and cherry mou" will be long remembered in Nithsdale.]

I.

O poort.i.th cauld, and restless love, Ye wreck my peace between ye; Yet poort.i.th a' I could forgive, An' twere na' for my Jeanie.

O why should fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bands untwining?

Or why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on fortune's shining?

II.

This warld's wealth when I think on, It's pride, and a' the lave o't-- Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't!

III.

Her een sae bonnie blue betray How she repays my pa.s.sion; But prudence is her o'erword ay, She talks of rank and fashion.

IV.

O wha can prudence think upon, And sic a la.s.sie by him?

O wha can prudence think upon, And sae in love as I am?

V.

How blest the humble cotter's fate![138]