Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/248

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,And flinty is thy breast:Thou dart of heaven that flashest by,O wilt thou give me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,Your willing victim see!But spare, and pardon my fause love,His wrangs to heaven and me!

GALLA WATER.

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.
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 bonie lad o' Galla Water.
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.
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!

THERE WAS A LASS.

TUNE—'BONIE JEAN.'

There was a lass, and she was fair,At kirk and market to be seen,When a' the fairest maids were met,The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
And aye she wrought her mammie's wark,And aye she sang sae merrily:The blithest bird upon the bushHad ne'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob the tender joysThat bless the little lintwhite's nest;And frost will blight the fairest flowers,And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,The flower and pride of a' the glen;And he had owsen, sheep and kye,And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.
As in the bosom o' the streamThe moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en;So trembling, pure, was tender love,Within the breast o' bonie Jean.
And now she works her mammie's wark,And aye she sighs wi' care and pain;Yet wistna what her ail might be,Or what wad mak her weel again.
But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,And didna joy blink in her ee,As Robie tauld a tale o' love,Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
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