The little flow'ret's peaceful lot, In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine; till love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom, And now beneath the with'ring blast My youth and joy consume.

IV.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs And climbs the early sky, Winnowing blythe her dewy wings In morning's rosy eye; As little reckt I sorrow's power, Until the flow'ry snare O' witching love, in luckless hour, Made me the thrall o' care.

V.

O had my fate been Greenland snows, Or Afric's burning zone, Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whase doom is, "hope nae mair."

What tongue his woes can tell!

Within whase bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell.

CCLVII.

O BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIER.

[To Jean Lorimer, the heroine of this song, Burns presented a copy of the last edition of his poems, that of 1793, with a dedicatory inscription, in which he moralizes upon her youth, her beauty, and steadfast friendship, and signs himself Coila.]

I.

O Bonnie was yon rosy brier, That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man, And bonnie she, and ah, how dear!

It shaded frae the e'enin sun.

II.

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew How pure, amang the leaves sae green: But purer was the lover's vow They witness'd in their shade yestreen.

III.

All in its rude and p.r.i.c.kly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair!

But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's th.o.r.n.y path o' care.

IV.

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine; And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, Its joys and griefs alike resign.

CCLVIII.

FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT

NEAR.

Tune--"_Let me in this ae night._"

["How do you like the foregoing?" Burns asks Thomson, after having copies this song for his collection. "I have written it within this hour: so much for the speed of my Pegasus: but what say you to his bottom?"]

I.

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, Far, far from thee, I wander here; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love.

O wert thou, love, but near me; But near, near, near me; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love

II.

Around me scowls a wintry sky, That blasts each bud of hope and joy; And shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love.

III.

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part, To poison Fortune's ruthless dart, Let me not break thy faithful heart, And say that fate is mine, love.

IV.

But dreary tho' the moments fleet, O let me think we yet shall meet!

That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris shine, love.

O wert thou, love, but near me; But near, near, near me; How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, And mingle sighs with mine, love.

CCLIX.

LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

Tune--"_The Lothian La.s.sie._"

["Gateslack," says Burns to Thomson, "is the name of a particular place, a kind of pa.s.sage among the Lowther Hills, on the confines of Dumfrieshire: Dalgarnock, is also the name of a romantic spot near the Nith, where are still a ruined church and burial-ground." To this, it may be added that Dalgarnock kirk-yard is the scene where the author of Waverley finds Old Mortality repairing the Cameronian grave-stones.]

I.

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me; I said there was naething I hated like men, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, believe me, The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me!

II.

He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een, And vow'd for my love, he was dying; I said he might die when he liked for Jean, The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, The Lord forgie me for lying!