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"I walked out yesterday evening with a volume of the Museum in my hand, when, turning up Allan Water, What Numbers shall the Muse repeat, etc., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in my worst style. You must know that in Ramsay's Tea-Table, where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is Allan Water, or My Love Annie's very Bonny. This last has certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which I presume it formerly occupied." Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1793.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready.

I listened to a lover's sang,

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie ;

And aye the wild-wood echoes rang

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie!

AT. 35.] WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU.

Oh, happy be the woodbine bower,
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ;
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie!
Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said: "I'm thine for ever!" While monie a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,
The Simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery through her shortening day,
Is Autumn, in her weeds o' yellow!
But can they melt the glowing heart,
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure?
Or through each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

75

WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.

TUNE-Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad.

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad;
Though father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

76

WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU. [1793.

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, And come na unless the back-yett be

a-jee ;

Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin' to me.

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At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, Gang by me as though that ye cared nae a flie; But steal me a blink o' your bonny black e'e, Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.

Aye vow and protest that ye care na for me, And whiles ye may lightly my beauty undervalue

a wee;

But court na anither, though jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.1

August, 1793.

1 The two first stanzas of this song had appeared in the second volume of the Scots Musical Museum.

ET. 35.]

ADOWN WINDING NITH.

77

ADOWN WINDING NITH I DID WANDER.

TUNE. The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre.

ADOWN winding Nith I did wander,

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; Adown winding Nith I did wander,

Of Phillis to muse and to sing.

CHORUS.

Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties,
They never wi' her can compare ;
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.

The daisy amused my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild ;
Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis,
For she is Simplicity's child.

The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily,-
But fairer and purer her breast.

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78

COME, LET ME TAKE THEE.

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour,

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye.

[1793.

Her voice is the song of the morning,
That wakes through the green-spreading grove,
When Phoebus peeps over the mountains,
On music, and pleasure, and love.

But, beauty, how frail and how fleeting -
The bloom of a fine summer's day!
While worth in the mind o' my Phillis
Will flourish without a decay.

August, 1793.

COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY

BREAST.

AIR- Cauld Kail.

"The last stanza of this song I send you is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in Johnson's Museum.". Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1793.

COME, let me take thee to my breast,

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ;

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