Mark yonder Pomp of costly Fashion. ΙΟΙ MARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION. TUNE-"De'il tak' the wars." MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, What are the noisy pleasures? The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art: May draw the wond'ring gaze, And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart. But did you see my dearest Chloris, In simplicity's array, Lovely as yonder sweet op'ning flower is, Oh then, the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul; Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity, And feel through ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. 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 thro' the heather to feed, And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed. 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 ha'e the charms o' yon wild, mossy moors; For there, by a lanely and sequester'd stream, Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. For there, by a lanely and sequester'd 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; For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. Yon wild, mossy Mountains For there, wi' my lassie, the day lang I rove, 103 While o'er us unheeded flee the swift hours o' love. She is not the fairest, altho' 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 ha'e polish'd her darts, They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. And when wit and refinement ha'e polished her darts, They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; And the heart beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms! And the heart beating love, as I'm clasp'd in her arms, Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering charms! OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HILL. TUNE-"My love is lost to me." ["This air is Oswald's: the song I made out of compliment to Mrs. Burns."-Burns.] Он, were I on Parnassus' hill! To sing how dear I love thee. An' write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay! How much, how dear I love thee. By night, by day, a-field, at hame, An' The Chevalier's Lament. Tho' I were doom'd to wander on Till then-and then I love thee. 105 THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. TUNE-"Captain O'Kean." ["As I was riding through a tract of melancholy joyless moors, between Galloway and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I turned my thoughts to psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, and Captain O'Kean coming at length into my head I tried these words to it."-Burns to Cleghorn.] THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale; The hawthorn trees blow in the dew of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale; But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, While the lingering moments are number'd by care? No flow'rs gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice, none. |