Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, The warld would live in peace, man; The din o' war wad cease, man. Wae worth the loon wha wadna eat 1 Originally printed in the People's Edition of Burns (1840), from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. James Duncan, Mosesfield, Glasgow. ET. 36.] ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 127 ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. TUNE O'er the Hills, etc. "The last evening, as I was straying out, and thinking of O'er the Hills and far away, I spun the following stanza for it; but whether my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, like the precious thread of the silkworm, or brushed to the devil, like the vile manufacture of the spider, I leave, my dear sir, to your usual candid criticism. I was pleased with several lines in it at first, but I own that now it appears rather a flimsy business."-Burns to Mr. Thomson, 30th August, 1794. How can my poor heart be glad, CHORUS. On the seas and far away, When in summer's noon I faint, At the starless midnight hour, And thunders rend the howling air, All I can I weep and pray, Peace, thy olive wand extend, And bid wild War his ravage end, And as a brother kindly greet! Then may Heaven with prosperous gales, Fill my sailor's welcome sails, To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that's far away. ÆT. 36.] CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. 129 CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES. "I am flattered at your adopting Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes, as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago, I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sang it charmingly; and, at my request, Mr. Clarke took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I took to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head." – Burns to Mr. Thomson, Sept., 1794. CHORUS. drive the ewes CA' the yowes to the knowes, Hark! the mavis' evening-sang We'll gae down by Cluden side, Yonder Cluden's silent towers, Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; goblin Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, Nocht of ill may come thee near, Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stown my very heart; I can die but canna part, My bonny dearie. While waters wimple to the sea; stolen meander While day blinks in the lift sae hie; gleams Till clay-cauld death shall blin' my ee, Ye shall be my dearie. |