III.

The bitter blast that round me blaws, Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause Of a' my grief and pain, jo.

O let me in this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; For pity's sake this ae night, O rise and let me in, jo!

CCXLVII.

O TELL NA ME O' WIND AND RAIN.

[The poet's thoughts, as rendered in the lady's answer, are, at all events, not borrowed from the sentiments expressed by Mrs. Riddel, alluded to in song CCx.x.xVII.; there she is tender and forgiving: here she in stern and cold.]

I.

O tell na me o' wind and rain, Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain!

Gae back the gate ye cam again, I winna let you in, jo.

I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night, And ance for a' this ae night, I winna let you in, jo!

II.

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, That round the pathless wand'rer pours, Is nocht to what poor she endures, That's trusted faithless man, jo.

III.

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, Now trodden like the vilest weed: Let simple maid the lesson read, The weird may be her ain, jo.

IV.

The bird that charm'd his summer-day, Is now the cruel fowler's prey; Let witless, trusting woman say How aft her fate's the same, jo.

I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night; And ance for a' this ae night, I winna let you in jo!

CCXLVIII.

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

Tune--"_Push about the jorum._"

[This national song was composed in April, 1795. The poet had been at a public meeting, where he was less joyous than usual: as something had been expected from him, he made these verses, when he went home, and sent them, with his compliments, to Mr. Jackson, editor of the Dumfries Journal. The original, through the kindness of my friend, James Milligan, Esq., is now before me.]

I.

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat, Then let the loons beware, Sir, There's wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on sh.o.r.e, Sir.

The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On British ground to rally!

II.

O let us not, like snarling tykes, In wrangling be divided; Till slap come in an unco loon And wi' a rung decide it.

Be Britain still to Britain true, Amang oursels united; For never but by British hands Maun British wrangs be righted!

III.

The kettle o' the kirk and state, Perhaps a clout may fail in't; But deil a foreign tinkler loon Shall ever ca' a nail in't.

Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it; By heaven! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it.

IV.

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, Who would set the mob aboon the throne, May they be d.a.m.ned together!

Who will not sing, "G.o.d save the King,"

Shall hang as high's the steeple; But while we sing, "G.o.d save the King,"

We'll ne'er forget the people.

CCXLIX.

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK.

Tune--"_Where'll bonnie Ann lie._"

[The old song to the same air is yet remembered: but the humour is richer than the delicacy; the same may be said of many of the fine hearty lyrics of the elder days of Caledonia. These verses were composed in May, 1795, for Thomson.]

I.

O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay!

Nor quit for me the trembling spray; A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing fond complaining.

II.

Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that would touch her heart, Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

III.

Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind?

Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, Sic notes o' woe could wauken.