Such was my life's deceitful morning,
Such the pleasure I enjoy'd;
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming,
A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.
Tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me,
She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill;
Of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me,
I bear a heart shall support me still.
LUCKLESS FORTUNE.
OH raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
Oh raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O!
My stem was fair, my bud was green,
My blossom sweet did blow, O;
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,
And made my branches grow, O.
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O;
But luckless fortune's northern storms
Laid a' my blossoms low, O.
THE MAUCHLINE LADY.
TUNE-"I had a horse, I had nae mair."
WHEN first I came to Stewart Kyle,
My mind it was na steady,
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade,
A mistress still I had aye.
But when I cam' roun' by Mauchline toun, Not dreadin' any body,
My heart was caught before I thought,
An' by a Mauchline lady.*
Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na but gaed by like stoure;
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.
* Miss Armour, afterwards the Poet's wife.
Tibbie, I ha'e seen the day.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye ha'e the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
An' answer him fu' dry.
But if he ha'e the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice,
Your daddie's gear mak's you sae nice,
The de'il a ane wad spier your price,
Were ye as poor as I.
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wad na gi'e her in her sark
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark;
Ye need na look sae high.
LOUIS, WHAT RECK I BY THEE. TUNE-"The auld man wad be married."
["These words are mine."-Burns in his Reliques.]
Louis, what reck I by thee,
Or Geordie on his ocean?
Dyvor, beggar loons to me-
I reign in Jeanie's bosom.
Let her crown my love her law,
And in her breast enthrone me :
Kings and nations-swith awa'!
Reif randies, I disown ye!
THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.
TUNE "The deuks dang o'er my daddie."
NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care:
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gi'e me my Highland lassie, O.
Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland lassie, O.
Oh, were yon hills an' valleys mine,
Yon palace an' yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland lassie, O.
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