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SONGS AND BALLADS

OF

ROBERT BURNS.

FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

TUNE-"Afton Water."

FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the

glen,

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear

wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

TUNE "Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff."

THOU ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

To Mary in Heaven.

That sacred hour can I forget;
Can I forget the hallowed grove
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past—
Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbl'd shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene;
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

15

AE FOND KISS.

TUNE-"Rory Dall's port."

AE fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest;
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas! for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Whistle, and I'll come to you.

17

OH WHISTLE AN' I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.

TUNE-"Whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad."

OH whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad,
Oh whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad;
Tho' father an' mither an' a' should gae mad,
Oh whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad.

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,
An' come as ye were na comin' to me.
An' come, &c.

At kirk, or at market, whene'er you meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye cared nae a flee;
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na looking at me.

Yet look, &c.

Aye vow an' protest that ye care na for me,
An' whiles ye may lightly my beauty a wee;
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be,
For fear that she wile your fancy frae me.

For fear, &c.

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