He wooes his simple dearie; The silly bogles, wealth and state, Can never make them eerie.

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?

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 138: "The wild-wood Indian's Fate," in the original MS.]

CLx.x.xVI.

GALLA WATER.

["Galla Water" is an improved version of an earlier song by Burns: but both songs owe some of their attractions to an older strain, which the exquisite air has made popular over the world. It was written for Thomson.]

I.

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, That wander thro' the blooming heather; But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws Can match the lads o' Galla Water.

II.

But there is ane, a secret ane, Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, The bonnie lad o' Galla Water.

III.

Altho' his daddie was nae laird, And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher; Yet rich in kindest, truest love, We'll tent our flocks by Galla Water.

IV.

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure; The bands and bliss o' mutual love, O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!

CLx.x.xVII.

LORD GREGORY.

[Dr. Wolcot wrote a Lord Gregory for Thomson's collection, in imitation of which Burns wrote his, and the Englishman complained, with an oath, that the Scotchman sought to rob him of the merit of his composition. Wolcot's song was, indeed, written first, but they are both but imitations of that most exquisite old ballad, "Fair Annie of Lochryan," which neither Wolcot nor Burns valued as it deserved: it far surpa.s.ses both their songs.]

I.

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, And loud the tempest's roar; A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r, Lord Gregory, ope thy door!

II.

An exile frae her father's ha', And a' for loving thee; At least some pity on me shaw, If love it may na be.

III.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove By bonnie Irwin-side, Where first I own'd that virgin-love I lang, lang had denied?

IV.

How often didst thou pledge and vow Thou wad for ay be mine; And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, It ne'er mistrusted thine.

V.

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, And flinty is thy breast-- Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, O wilt thou give me rest!

VI.

Ye mustering thunders from above, Your willing victim see!

But spare and pardon my fause love, His wrangs to heaven and me!

CLx.x.xVIII.

MARY MORISON.

Tune--"_Bide ye yet._"

["The song prefixed," observes Burns to Thomson, "is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable either for its merits or its demerits." "Of all the productions of Burns," says Hazlitt, "the pathetic and serious love-songs which he has left behind him, in the manner of the old ballads, are, perhaps, those which take the deepest and most lasting hold of the mind. Such are the lines to Mary Morison." The song is supposed to have been written on one of a family of Morisons at Mauchline.]

I.

O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!

Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor: How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun; Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison!

II.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', "Ye are na Mary Morison."

III.

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?

Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee?