It's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw; My father pat me frae his door, A pair o' gloves he bought to me, I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE FAIR. I DO confess thou art sae fair, I wad been owre the lugs in love, Had I na found the slightest prayer ears That lips could speak thy heart could move. I do confess thee sweet, but find Thou are sae thriftless o' thy sweets, Thy favours are the silly wind, That kisses ilka thing it meets. See yonder rose-bud, rich in dew, Amang its native briers sae coy; How sune it tines its scent and hue When pou'd and worn a common toy! Though thou may gaily bloom a while; loses 1 Altered into the Scotch language by Burns from an English poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to Anne, consort of James VI. Sir Robert's verses are as follow: I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find That kisseth everything it meets; The morning rose that untouched stands, And leaves fall from her one by one. Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been awhile, Like sun-flowers to be thrown aside, YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. TUNE- Yon Wild Mossy Mountains. "This tune is by Oswald: the song alludes to a part of my private history which it is of no consequence to the world to know."- Burns. YON wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather to feed, And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed. Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's sunny shores, To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy moors; For there, by a lanely and sequestered stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path, Ilk stream foaming down its ain green, narrow strath; valley For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. She is not the fairest, although she is fair; To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs! And when wit and refinement hae polished her darts, They dazzle our e'en, as they flee to our hearts. But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; her arms, Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms! O FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, TAM. TUNE-The Moudiewort. “The subject of this song had a real origin: a young girl having been left some property by a near relation, and at her own disposal on her attaining majority, was pressed by her relations to marry an old rich booby. Her affections, however, had previously been engaged by a young man, to whom she had pledged her troth when she should become of age, and she of course obstinately rejected the solicitations of her friends to any other match. Burns represents the lady addressing her youthful lover in the language of constancy and affection."- Stenhouse. CHORUS. AND O for ane-and-twenty, Tam, They snool me sair, and haud me down, snub And gar me look like bluntie, Tam! a sniveller But three short years will soon wheel roun' And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam. |