he's danc'd awa, he's danc'd awa,
he's danc'd awa wi' the exciseman.
we'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink,
we'll laugh, sing, and rejoice, man,
and mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil,
that danc'd awa wi' th' exciseman.
the deil's awa, c.
there's threesome reels, there's foursome reels,
there's hornpipes and strathspeys, man,
but the ae best dance ere came to the land
was—the deil's awa wi' the exciseman.
the deil's awa, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the country lass the country lass
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 beild!
blythe bessie in the milking shiel,
says—“i'll be wed,e o't what will”:
out spake a dame in wrinkled eild;
“o' gude advisementes nae ill.
“it's ye hae wooers mony ane,
and lassie, ye're but young ye ken;
then wait a wee, and cannie wale
a routhie butt, a routhie ben;
there's johnie o' the buskie-glen,
fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
take this frae me, my bonie hen,
it's plenty beets the luver's fire.”
“for johnie o' the buskie-glen,
i dinna care a single flie;
he lo'es sae weel his craps and kye,
he has nae love to spare for me;
but blythe's the blink o' robie's e'e,
and weel i wat he lo'es me dear:
ae blink o' him i wad na gie
for 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' folk 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 love,
the gowd and siller canna buy;
we may be poor—robie and i—
light is the burden love lays on;
content and love brings peace and joy—
what mair hae queens upon a throne?”
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns bessy and her spinnin wheel bessy and her spinnin' wheel
o leeze me on my spinnin' wheel,
and leeze me on my rock and reel;
frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
and haps me biel and warm at e'en;
i'll set me down and sing and spin,
while laigh descends the simmer sun,
blest wi' content, and milk and meal,
o leeze me on my spinnin' wheel.
on ilka hand the burnies trot,
and meet below my theekit cot;
the scented birk and hawthorn white,
across the pool their arms unite,
alike to screen the birdie's nest,
and little fishes' caller rest;
the sun blinks kindly in the beil',
where blythe i turn my spinnin' wheel.
on lofty aiks the cushats wail,
and echo cons the doolfu' tale;
the lintwhites in the hazel braes,
delighted, rival ither's lays;
the craik amang the claver hay,
the pairtrick whirring o'er the ley,
the swallow jinkin' round my shiel,
amuse me at my spinnin' wheel.
wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
aboon distress, below envy,
o wha wad leave this humble state,
for a' the pride of a' the great?
amid their flairing, idle toys,
amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
can they the peace and pleasure feel
of bessy at her spinnin' wheel?
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns love for love love for love
ithers seek they ken na what,
features, carriage, and a' that;
gie me love in her i court,
love to love maks a' the sport.
let love sparkle in her e'e;
let her lo'e nae man but me;
that's the tocher-gude i prize,
there the luver's treasure lies.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns saw ye bonie lesley saw ye bonie lesley
o saw ye bonie lesley,
as she gaed o'er the border?
she's gane, like alexander,
to spread her conquests farther.
to see her is to love her,
and love but her for ever;
for nature made her what she is,
and never made anither!
thou art a queen, fair lesley,
thy subjects, we before thee;
thou art divine, fair lesley,
the hearts o' men adore thee.
the deil he could na scaith thee,
or aught that wad belang thee;
he'd look into thy bonie face,
and say—“i canna wrang thee!”
the powers aboon will tent thee,
misfortune sha'na steer thee;
thou'rt like themselves sae lovely,
that ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
return again, fair lesley,
return to caledonie!
that we may brag we hae a lass
there's nane again sae bonie.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns fragment of song fragment of song
no cold approach, no altered mien,
just what would make suspicion start;
no pause the dire extremes between,
he made me blest—and broke my heart.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns ill meet thee on the lea rig i'll meet thee on the lea rig
when o'er the hill the eastern star
tells bughtin time is near, my jo,
and owsen frae the furrow'd field
return sae dowf and weary o;
down by the burn, where birken buds
wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo,
i'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
my ain kind dearie o.
at midnight hour, in mirkest glen,
i'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, o,
if thro' that glen i gaed to thee,
my ain kind dearie o;
altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
and i were ne'er sae weary o,
i'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
my ain kind dearie o.
the hunter lo'es the morning sun;
to rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
at noon the fisher seeks the glen
adown the burn to steer, my jo:
gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey,
it maks my heart sae cheery o,
to meet thee on the lea-rig,
my ain kind dearie o.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns my wifes a winsome wee thing my wife's a winsome wee thing
air—“my wife's a wanton wee thing.”
chorus.—she is a winsome wee thing,
she is a handsome wee thing,
she is a lo'esome wee thing,
this dear wee wife o' mine.
i never saw a fairer,
i never lo'ed a dearer,
and neist my heart i'll wear her,
for fear my jewel tine,
she is a winsome, c.
the warld's wrack we share o't;
the warstle and the care o't;
wi' her i'll blythely bear it,
and think my lot divine.
she is a winsome, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns highland mary highland mary
tune—“katherine ogie.”
ye banks, and braes, and streams around
the 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 farewell
o' 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' mony 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