Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/249

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
193
The sun was sinking in the west,The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;His cheek to her's he fondly prest,And whisper'd thus his tale o' love:
O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;O canst thou think to fancy me?Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge,Or naething else to trouble thee;But stray amang the heather-bells,And tent the waving corn wi' me.
Now what could artless Jeanie do?She had nae will to say him na:At length she blush'd a sweet consent,And love was aye between them twa.

LOGAN BRAES.

TUNE—'LOGAN WATER'

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glideThat day I was my Willie's bride;And years sinsyne hae o'er us run,Like Logan to the simmer sun.But now thy flow'ry banks appearLike drumlie winter, dark and drear,While my dear lad maun face his faes,Far, far frae me and Logan Braes.
Again the merry month o' MayHas made our hills and valleys gay;The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,The bees hum round the breathing flowers;Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye,And evening's tears are tears of joy:My soul, delightless, a' surveys,While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush,Amang her nestlings, sits the thrush;Her faithfu' mate will share her toil,Or wi' his song her cares beguile:But I wi' my sweet nurslings here,Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer,Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,While Willie's far frae Logan Braes.
O wae upon you, men o' state,That brethren rouse to deadly hate!As ye mak monie a fond heart mourn,Sae may it on your heads return!How can your flinty hearts enjoyThe widow's tears, the orphan's cry?But soon may peace bring happy days,And Willie hame to Logan Braes!

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

TUNE—'ROBIN ADAIR.'

While larks with little wingFann'd the pure air,Tasting the breathing spring,Forth I did fare:Gay the sun's golden eyePeep'd o'er the mountains high;Such thy morn! did I cry,Phillis the fair.
In each bird's careless songGlad did I share;While yon wild flowers among,Chance led me there:Sweet to the opening day,Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;Such thy bloom! did I say,Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,Doves cooing were,I mark'd the cruel hawkCaught in a snare:So kind may Fortune be,Such make his destiny,He who would injure thee,Phillis the fair.
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