Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/245

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
189

SONG OF DEATH.

A GAELIC AIR.

Scene.—A field of battle. Time of the day—Evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the song.

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,Now gay with the bright setting sun!Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties,Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,Go, frighten the coward and slave!Go, teach them to tremble, fell Tyrant! but know,No terrors hast thou for the brave!
Thou strik'st the dull peasant—he sinks in the dark,Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name:Thou strik'st the young hero—a glorious mark!He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour—our swords in our hands,Our King and our Country to save—While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands,O! who would not rest with the brave!

AULD ROB MORRIS.

There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen,He's the king o' gude fellows and wale of auld men;He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine,And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine.
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 ee.
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 maunna hope to come speed,The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.
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
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