Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/317

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
THE SONGS OF BURNS.
251

HIGHLAND MARY.

TUNE—'KATHARINE OGIE.'

Ye banks, and braes, and streams aroundThe castle o' Montgomery,Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,Your waters never drumlie!There simmer first unfauld her robes,And there the langest tarry;For there I took the last fareweelO' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,How rich the hawthorn's blossom,As underneath their fragrant shade,I clasp'd her to my bosom!The golden hours, on angel wings,Flew o'er me and my dearie;For dear to me, as light and life,Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,Our parting was fu' tender;And, pledging aft to meet again,We tore oursels asunder;But Oh! fell death's untimely frost,That nipt my flower sae early!Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,That wraps my Highland Mary.
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!And closed for aye the sparkling glance,That dwelt on me sae kindly!And mould'ring now in silent dust,That heart that lo'ed me dearly!But still within my bosom's coreShall live my Highland Mary.

THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.

TUNE—'PUSH ABOUT THE JORUM.'

April, 1795.

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?Then let the loons beware, Sir,There's wooden walls upon our seas,And volunteers on shore, Sir.The Nith shall run to Corsincon,And Criffel sink to Solway,Ere we permit a foreign foeOn British ground to rally!Fal de ral, &c.
O let us not like snarling tykesIn wrangling be divided;Till, slap, come in an unco loonAnd wi' a rung decide it.Be Britain still to Britain true,Amang oursels united;For never but by British handsMaun British wrangs be righted!Fal de ral, &c.
The kettle o' the kirk and state,Perhaps a clout may fail in't;But deil a foreign tinkler loonShall ever ca' a nail in't.Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,And wha wad dare to spoil it;By heaven, the sacrilegious dogShall fuel be to boil it.Fal de ral, &c.
The wretch that wad a tyrant own,And the wretch his true-born brother,Who would set the mob aboon the throne,May they be damned together!Who will not sing, 'God save the King,'Shall hang as high's the steeple;But while we sing, 'God save the King,'We'll ne'er forget the People.
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.