PHILLIS THE FAIR. TUNE-"Robin Adair." While larks with little wing Fann'd the pure air, Tasting the breathing spring, Forth I did fare; Gay the sun's golden eye, Peep'd o'er the mountains high; Such thy morn! did I cry, Phillis the fair. In each bird's careless song Glad did I share; While yon wild flowers among, Chance led me there. Sweet to the opening day, Rose-buds bent the dewy spray; Such thy bloom ! did I say, Phillis the fair. Down in a shady walk Doves cooing were; Caught in a snare; Phillis the fair. Adown winding Nith I did wander. 177 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 an' to sing. CHORUS Awa’ wi' your belles an' your beauties, They never wi' her can compare : Has met wi' the queen o’the fair. The daisy amus'd 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 an' how pure is the lily, But fairer an' purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie: Its dewdrop o' diamond her eye. Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes thro' the green-spreading grove, When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, On music, an' pleasure, an' love. But, beauty, how frail an' how fleeting The bloom of a fine summer's day! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 0 BY ALLAN STREAM ICHANC’D TO ROVE. TUNE“ Allan Water." [“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,' &c., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn till I wrote one to suit the measure."-Burns to Thomson.] By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;* The winds were whispering thro' the grove, The yellow corn was waving ready: I listen’d to a lover's sang, An' thought on youthfu' pleasures mony; An' aye the wild-wood echoes rangOh, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! * “A mountain, west of Strathallan, 3,009 feet high."-Burus. + “Or, 'Oh, my love Annie's very bonnie.'”-Burns. Come, let me take thee to my Breast. 179 Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place, an' time I met my dearie ! Her head upon my throbbing breast, She, sinking, said, “ I'm thine for ever!” While mony 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 thro' 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 thro' each nerve the rapture dart, Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? COME, LET ME TAKE THEE TO MY BREAST. TUNE-"Cauld kail." COME, let me take thee to my breast, An' pledge we ne'er shall sunder; The world's wealth an' grandeur: An' do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her? That I may live to love her. a Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure; Than sic a moment's pleasure: I swear I'm thine for ever! An' break it shall I never ! HAD I A CAVE. TUNE-"Robin Adair.” [“You will remember an unfortunate part of our worthy friend Cunningham's story, which happened about three years ago. That struck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea justice as follows."-Burns to G. Thomson, August, 1793. ] Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, There would I weep my woes, lost repose, Ne'er to wake more ! |
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