our rustic dance wi' scorn;
but are their hearts as light as ours,
beneath the milk-white thorn!
the shepherd, in the flowery glen;
in shepherd's phrase, will woo:
the courtier tells a finer tale,
but is his heart as true!
these wild-wood flowers i've pu'd, to deck
that spotless breast o' thine:
the courtiers' gems may witness love,
but, 'tis na love like mine.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns the charming month of may the charming month of may
tune—“daintie davie.”
it was the charming month of may,
when all the flow'rs were fresh and gay.
one morning, by the break of day,
the youthful, charming chloe—
from peaceful slumber she arose,
girt on her mantle and her hose,
and o'er the flow'ry mead she goes—
the youthful, charming chloe.
chorus.—lovely was she by the dawn,
youthful chloe, charming chloe,
tripping o'er the pearly lawn,
the youthful, charming chloe.
the feather'd people you might see
perch'd all around on every tree,
in notes of sweetest melody
they hail the charming chloe;
till, painting gay the eastern skies,
the glorious sun began to rise,
outrival'd by the radiant eyes
of youthful, charming chloe.
lovely was she, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns lassie wi the lint-white locks lassie wi' the lint-white locks
tune—“rothiemurchie's rant.”
chorus.—lassie wi'the lint-white locks,
bonie lassie, artless lassie,
wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
wilt thou be my dearie, o?
now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
and a' is young and sweet like thee,
o wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
and say thou'lt be my dearie, o.
lassie wi' the, c.
the primrose bank, the wimpling burn,
the cuckoo on the milk-white thorn,
the wanton lambs at early morn,
shall wee thee, my dearie, o.
lassie wi' the, c.
and when the wee simmer shower
has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
we'll to the breathing woodbine bower,
at sultry noon, my dearie, o.
lassie wi' the, c.
when cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
the weary shearer's hameward way,
thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
and talk o' love, my dearie, o.
lassie wi' the, c.
and when the howling wintry blast
disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
i'llfort thee, my dearie, o.
lassie wi' the, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns dialogue song—philly and willy dialogue song—philly and willy
tune—“the sow's tail to geordie.”
he. o philly, happy be that day,
when roving thro' the gather'd hay,
my youthfu' heart was stown away,
and by thy charms, my philly.
she. o willy, aye i bless the grove
where first i own'd my maiden love,
whilst thou did pledge the powers above,
to be my ain dear willy.
both. for a' the joys that gowd can gie,
i dinna care a single flie;
the lad i love's the lad for me,
the lass i love's the lass for me,
and that's my ain dear willy.
and that's my ain dear philly.
he. as songsters of the early year,
are ilka day mair sweet to hear,
so ilka day to me mair dear
and charming is my philly.
she. as on the brier the budding rose,
still richer breathes and fairer blows,
so in my tender bosom grows
the love i bear my willy.
both. for a' the joys, c.
he. the milder sun and bluer sky
that crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
were ne'er sae wee to my eye
as is a sight o' philly.
she. the little swallow's wanton wing,
tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
did ne'er to me sic tidings bring,
as meeting o' my willy.
both. for a' the joys, c.
he. the bee that thro' the sunny hour
sips nectar in the op'ning flower,
par'd wi' my delight is poor,
upon the lips o' philly.
she. the woodbine in the dewy weet,
when ev'ning shades in silence meet,
is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
as is a kiss o' willy.
both. for a' the joys, c.
he. let fortune's wheel at random rin,
and fools may tine and knaves may win;
my thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
and that's my ain dear philly.
she. what's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
i dinna care a single flie;
the lad i love's the lad for me,
and that's my ain dear willy.
both. for a' the joys, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns contented wi little and cantie wi mair contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair
tune—“lumps o' puddin'.”
contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,
whene'er i forgather wi' sorrow and care,
i gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang,
wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld scottish sang.
chorus—contented wi' little, c.
i whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
but man is a soger, and life is a faught;
my mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,
and my freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
contented wi' little, c.
a townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa',
a night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a':
when at the blythe end o' our journey at last,
wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
contented wi' little, c.
blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way;
be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
e ease, ore travail,e pleasure or pain,
my warst word is: “wee, and wee again!”
contented wi' little, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns farewell thou stream farewell thou stream
air—“nansie's to the greenwood gane.”
farewell, thou stream that winding flows
around eliza's dwelling;
o mem'ry! spare the cruel thoes
within my bosom swelling.
condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain
and yet in secret languish;
to feel a fire in every vein,
nor dare disclose my anguish.
love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
i fain my griefs would cover;
the bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
betray the hapless lover.
i know thou doom'st me to despair,
nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
but, o eliza, hear one prayer—
for pity's sake forgive me!
the music of thy voice i heard,
nor wist while it enslav'd me;
i saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
till fears no more had sav'd me:
th' unwary sailor thus, aghast
the wheeling torrent viewing,
'mid circling horrors sinks at last,
in overwhelming ruin.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns canst thou leave me thus, my katie canst thou leave me thus, my katie
tune—“roy's wife.”
chorus—canst thou leave me thus, my katie?
canst thou leave me thus, my katie?
well thou know'st my aching heart,
and canst thou leave me thus, for pity?
is this thy plighted, fond regard,
thus cruelly to part, my katie?
is this thy faithful swain's reward—
an aching, broken heart, my katie!
canst thou leave me, c.
farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
that finkle heart of thine, my katie!
thou maysn find those will love thee dear,
but not a love like mine, my katie,
canst thou leave me, c.
Poems and Songs of Robert Burns my nanies awa my nanie's awa
tune—“there'll never be peace till jamiees hame.”
now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,
and listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes;