Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/299

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
THE SONGS OF BURNS.
235

BLITHE HAE I BEEN ON YON HILL.

TUNE—'LIGGERAM COSH.'

Blithe hae I been on yon hill,As the lambs before me;Careless ilka thought and free,As the breeze flew over me:Now nae langer sport and play,Mirth or sang can please me;Lesley is sae fair and coy,Care and anguish seize me.
Heavy, heavy is the task,Hopeless love declaring:Trembling, I dow nocht but glowr,Sighing, dumb, despairing!If she winna ease the thrawsIn my bosom swelling,Underneath the grass-green sodSoon maun be my dwelling.

THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA.

TUNE—'BANKS OF BANNA.'

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine,A place where body saw na';Yestreen lay on this breast o' mineThe gowden locks of Anna.The hungry Jew in wildernessRejoicing o'er his manna,Was naething to my hinny blissUpon the lips of Anna.
Ye monarchs, tak the east and west,Frae Indus to Savannah !Gie me within my straining graspThe melting form of Anna.There I'll despise imperial charms,An Empress or Sultana,While dying raptures in her arms,I give and take with Anna!
Awa, thou flaunting god o' day!Awa, thou pale Diana!Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling rayWhen I'm to meet my Anna.Come, in thy raven plumage, night,Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a';And bring an angel pen to writeMy transports wi' my Anna!
POSTSCRIPT.The kirk and state may join, and tellTo do such things I mauna:The kirk and state may gae to hell,And I'll gae to my Anna.She is the sunshine o' my ee,To live but her I canna;Had I on earth but wishes three,The first should be my Anna.

O WERE MY LOVE YON LILAC FAIR.

TUNE—'HUGHIE GRAHAM.'

O were my love yon lilac fair,Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;And I, a bird to shelter there,When wearied on my little wing;
How I wad mourn, when it was tornBy autumn wild, and winter rude!But I wad sing on wanton wing,When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my love were yon red roseThat grows upon the castle wa',And I mysel' a drap o' dew,Into her bonie breast to fa'!
Oh, there beyond expression blest,I'd feast on beauty a' the night;Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,Till fley'd awa' by Phœbus' light.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.