ANNA, THY CHARMS.1 TUNE - Bonny Mary. ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T. * * OUT ower yon muir, out ower yon moss, Whare gor-cocks through the heather moor-cocks pass, There wons auld Colin's bonny lass, lives A lily in a wilderness. 1 This song, with the four which follow it, were contributed by Burns to the sixth volume of Johnson's Museum, published in 1803. 114 JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. [1794. Sae sweetly move her gentle limbs, * * * JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING KISS. TUNE - Jockey's ta' en the Parting Kiss. JOCKEY'S ta'en the parting kiss Nought but griefs with me remain. When the shades of evening creep Fondly he'll repeat her name; Jockey's heart is still at hame. O LAY thy loof in mine, lass, And swear on thy white hand, lass, A slave to love's unbounded sway, Unless thou be my ain. There's monie a lass has broke my rest, That for a blink I hae lo'ed best But thou art queen within my breast, O lay thy loof in mine, lass, In mine, lass, in mine, lass, palm an instant And swear on thy white hand, lass, That thou wilt be my ain. O MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. O MALLY'S meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's every way complete. As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid I chanced to meet; But oh, the road was very hard For that fair maiden's tender feet. It were mair meet that those fine feet Were weel laced up in silken shoon; And 'twere more fit that she should sit Within yon chariot gilt aboon. Her yellow hair, beyond compare, barefoot above Comes trinkling down her swan-like neck; And her two eyes, like stars in skies, Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. SONNET ON THE DEATH OF GLENRIDDEL. It is not of course to be supposed that Burns was to mend his breach with the family at Woodley Park by lampooning the lady. Nor did the evil stop here. Very naturally, the good couple at Carse, by whose fireside he had spent so many happy evenings, took part with their friends at Woodley; and most sad it is to relate, that "the worthy Glenriddel, deep read in old coins," adopted sentiments of reprobation and aversion towards the Bard of the Whistle. In April, the Laird of Carse died, unreconciled to our poet, who, remembering only his worth and former kindness, immediately penned an elegiac sonnet on the sad event. It was done on the spur of a first impulse the sonnet being completed so early as to appear in the local newspaper, beneath the announcement of Glenriddel's death. No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, Nor pour your descant grating on my soul! Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar ! |