Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/282

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.

THE BANKS OF NITH.

TUNE—'ROBIE DONNA GORACH.'

The Thames flows proudly to the sea,Where royal cities stately stand;But sweeter flows the Nith to me,Where Cummins ance had high command:When shall I see that honour'd land,That winding stream I love so dear!Must wayward fortune's adverse handFor ever, ever keep me here?
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;How sweetly wind thy sloping dales,Where lambkins wanton thro' the broom!Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom,Far from thy bonie banks and braes,May there my latest hours consume,Amang the friends of early days!

THE BONIE WEE THING.

TUNE—'THE LADS OF SALTCOATS.'

Bonie wee thing, cannie wee thing,Lovely wee thing, was thou mine,I wad wear thee in my bosom,Lest my jewel I should tine.
Wistfully I look and languishIn that bonie face o' thine;And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,Lest my wee thing be na mine.
Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,In ae constellation shine;To adore thee is my duty,Goddess o' this soul o' mine!Bonie wee, &c.

COUNTRY LASSIE.

TUNE—'JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW.'

In simmer when the hay was mawn,And corn wav'd green in ilka field,While claver blooms white o'er the lea,And roses blaw in ilka bield;Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,Says, 'I'll be wed, come o't what will;'Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild,'O' guid advisement comes nae ill.
'It's ye have wooers monie a ane,And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken:Then wait a wee, and cannie waleA routhie butt, a routhie ben:There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;Tak this frae me, my bonie hen,It's plenty beets the luver's fire.'
'For Johnie o' the Buskie-glenI dinna care a single flie;He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,He has nae luve to spare for me:But blithe's the blink o' Robie's ee,And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:Ae blink o' him I wad nae gieFor Buskie-glen and a' his gear.'
'O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught!The canniest gate, the strife is sair;But aye fu' han't is fechtin best,A hungry care's an unco care:But some will spend, and some will spare,An' wilfu' folks maun hae their will;Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.'
'O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,And gear will buy me sheep and kye.But the tender heart o' leesome luveThe gowd and siller canna buy:We may be poor—Robie and I,Light is the burden luve lays on;Content and luve brings peace and joy,What mair hae queens upon a throne?
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