Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/346
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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME.
When Januar' wind was blawing cauld,As to the north I took my way,The mirksome night did me enfauld,I knew na where to lodge till day.
By my good luck a maid I met,Just in the middle o' my care;And kindly she did me inviteTo walk into a chamber fair.
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,And thank'd her for her courtesie;I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,And bade her mak a bed to me.
She made the bed baith large and wide,Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;She put the cup to her rosy lips,And drank, 'Young man, now sleep ye soun.'
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,And frae my chamber went wi'speed;But I call'd her quickly back againTo lay some mair below my head.
A cod she laid below my head,And served me wi' due respect;And to salute her wi' a kiss,I put my arms about her neck.
"Haud aff your hands, young man,' she says,'And dinna sae uncivil be:If ye hae onie love for me,O wrang na my virginitie!'
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,Her teeth were like the ivorie;Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,The lass that made the bed to me.
Her bosom was the driven snaw,Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,And aye she wist na what to say;I laid her between me and the wa',—The lassie thought na lang till day.
Upon the morrow when we rose,I thank'd her for her courtesie;But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd,And said, 'Alas! ye've ruin'd me.'
I clasp'd her waist, .and kiss'd her syne,While the tear stood twinklin in her ee;I said, 'My lassie, dinna cry,For ye ay shall mak the bed to me.'
She took her mither's Holland sheets,And made them a' in sarks to me:Blythe and merry may she be,The lass that made the bed to me.
The bonie lass made the bed to me,The braw lass made the bed to me:I'll ne'er forget till the day I die,The lass that made the bed to me!
CRAIGIE-BURN-WOOD.
CHORUS.Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie,And O to be lying beyond thee,O sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep,That's laid in the bed beyond thee.
Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-burn-wood,And blythely awakens the morrow;But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-burn-woodCan yield to me nothing but sorrow.Beyond thee, &c.