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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:
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,

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:
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine,
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
Will flourish without a decay.

BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANC'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 rang—

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie !†

"A mountain, west of Strathallan, 3,009 feet high.”—Burns.
"Or, 'Oh, my love Annie's very bonnie.'”—Burns.

Come, let me take thee to my Breast.

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?

179

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;

An' I shall spurn as vilest dust

The world's wealth an' grandeur:

An' do I hear my Jeanie own
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone,

That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share
Than sic a moment's pleasure:

An' by thy een sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever!
An' on thy lips I seal my vow,
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,

Where the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar;
There would I weep my woes,

There seek my lost repose,
Till grief my eyes should close,

Ne'er to wake more!

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