When in summer's noon I faint,
As weary flocks around me pant,
Haply in the scorching sun
My sailor's thundering at his gun:
Bullets, spare my only joy!
Bullets, spare my darling boy!
Fate, do with me what you may,
Spare but him that's far away!

At the starless midnight hour,
When winter rules with boundless power,
As the storms the forest tear,

And thunders rend the howling air,
Listening to the doubling roar,
Surging on the rocky shore,
All I can- -I weep and pray,
For his weal that's far away.

Peace, thy olive wand extend,
And bid wild War his ravage end,
Man with brother man to meet,

And as a brother kindly greet!

Then may Heaven with prosperous gales,

Fill my sailor's welcome sails,

To my arms their charge convey,

My dear lad that's far away.

CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES.

“I am flattered at your adopting Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes, as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago, I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sang it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr. Clarke took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head.” Burns to Mr. Thomson, Sept., 1794.

CHORUS.

drive the ewes

CA' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonny dearie !

Hark! the mavis' evening-sang
Sounding Cluden's woods amang;
Then a faulding let us gang,
My bonny dearie.

We'll gae down by Cluden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves that sweetly glide
To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Cluden's silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O'er the dewy bending flowers,
Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear,

goblin

Nocht of ill may come thee near,
My bonny dearie.

While day blinks in the lift sae hie; gleams

Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee,

Ye shall be my dearie.

SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A'.

TUNE- Onagh's Lock.

SAE flaxen were her ringlets,

Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'er-arching

Twa laughing e'en o' bonny blue:

Her smiling, sae wiling,

Wad make a wretch forget his wo;
What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto these rosy lips to grow!
Such was my Chloris' bonny face,
When first her bonny face I saw;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Like harmony her motion;

Her pretty ankle is a spy
Betraying fair proportion,

Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,

Her faultless form and graceful air;

Ilk feature auld nature

Declared that she could do nae mair.

Hers are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering beauty's sovereign law;
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Let others love the city,

And gaudy show at sunny noon;
Gie me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve, and rising moon,
Fair beaming, and streaming,

Her silver light the boughs amang;

While falling, recalling,

The amorous thrush concludes his sang.

There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove
By wimpling burn and leafy

shaw,

meandering

And hear my vows o' truth and love,
And say thou lo'es me best of a'?

Sept., 1794.

grove

Он, saw ye my dear, my Phely?

Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely?

She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, She winna come hame to her Willy.