Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/295

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
231

WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR?

Wha is that at my bower door?O wha is it but Findlay;Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here!Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay.What mak ye sae like a thief?O come and see, quo' Findlay;Before the morn ye'll work mischief;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
Gif I rise and let you in;Let me in, quo' Findlay;Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.In my bower if ye should stay;Let me stay, quo' Findlay;I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.
Here this night if ye remain;I'll remain, quo' Findlay;I dread ye'll learn the gate again;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.What may pass within this bower—Let it pass, quo' Findlay.Ye maun conceal till your last hour;Indeed will I, quo' Findlay.

I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR.

I do confess thou art sae fair,I wad been o'er the lugs in luve;Had I not found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak, thy heart could muve.
I do confess thee sweet, but findThou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets,Thy favours are the silly windThat kisses ilka thing it meets.
See yonder rose-bud rich in dew,Amang its native briers sae coy,How soon it tines its scent and hueWhen pu'd and worn a common toy!
Sic fate ere lang shall thee betide,Tho' thou may gaily bloom a while;Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside,Like onie common weed and vile.

OUT OVER THE FORTH.

Out over the Forth I look to the north, But what is the north and its Highlands to me?The south nor the east gie ease to my breast,The far foreign land, or the wild rolling sea.
But I look to the west, when I gae to rest,That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;For far in the west lives he I lo'e best,The lad that is dear to my babie and me.

THO' CRUEL FATE.

Tho' cruel fate should bid us part,As far's the pole and line;Her dear idea round my heartShould tenderly entwine.
Tho' mountains frown and deserts howl,And oceans roar between;Yet, dearer than my deathless soul,I still would love my Jean.········
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