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ET. 35.]

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

71

"O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;

O canst thou think to fancy me ? Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,

And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

tend

"At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, cow-house Or naething else to trouble thee; But stray amang the heather-bells,

And tent the waving corn wi' me.”

Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na;
At length she blushed a sweet consent,
And love was aye between them twa.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

TUNE - Robin Adair.

“I have tried my hand on Robin Adair, and, you will probably think, with little success; but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing anything better to it." — Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1793.

WHILE larks with little wing

Fanned the pure air,
Tasting the breathing spring,

12

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PHILLIS THE FAIR.

[1793.

Forth I did fare:

Gay the sun's golden eye

Peeped 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,

Rosebuds bent the dewy spray ;

Such thy bloom! did I say,

Phillis the fair.

Down in a shady walk

Doves cooing were;

I marked the cruel hawk

Caught in a snare:

So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny,

He who would injure thee,

Phillis the fair.1

1 "So much for namby-pamby. I may, after all, try my hand on it in Scots verse. There I always find myself most at home."- B.

Burns is understood to have, in Phillis the Fair, represented the tender feelings which Clarke entertained towards Miss Philadelphia M'Murdo, one of his pupils. This lady afterwards became Mrs. Norman Lockhart, of Carnwath.

ET. 35.]

HAD I A CAVE.

73

HAD I A CAVE.

TUNE Robin Adair.

"That crinkum-crankum tune, Robin Adair, has run so in my head, and I succeeded so ill in my last attempt, that I have ventured, in this morning's walk, one essay more. You, my dear sir, will remember an unfortunate part of our worthy friend Cunningham's story, which happened about three years ago.1 That struck my fancy, and I endeavoured to do the idea justice as follows.” — Burns to Mr. 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!

Falsest of womankind! canst thou declare
All thy fond-plighted vows fleeting as air!
To thy new lover hie,
Laugh o'er thy perjury;
Then in thy bosom try

What peace is there!

1 Cunningham had wooed a young lady of many personal attractions; but, on another lover presenting himself, with some superior pretensions of an extrinsic character, she deserted the poet's friend with a degree of coolness which seems to have for the time excited great and general surprise.

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"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, etc., as the words appeared to me rather unworthy of so fine an air, and recollecting that it is on your list, I sat and raved under the shade of an old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the measure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in my worst style. You must know that in Ramsay's Tea-Table, where the modern song first appeared, the ancient name of the tune, Allan says, is Allan Water, or My Love Annie's very Bonny. This last has certainly been a line of the original song; so I took up the idea, and, as you will see, have introduced the line in its place, which I presume it formerly occupied."- Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1793.

By Allan stream I chanced to rove,
While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi;
The winds were whispering through the grove,
The yellow corn was waving ready.

I listened to a lover's sang,

And

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie;
the wild-wood echoes rang
Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie!

aye

ÆT. 35.] WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU.

Oh, happy be the woodbine bower,

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour,

The place and time I met my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing breast,

She, sinking, said: "I'm thine for ever! While monie a kiss the seal imprest,

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever.

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The haunt o' Spring's the primrose brae,
The Simmer joys the flocks to follow;
How cheery through 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 through each nerve the rapture dart,
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure?

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WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU, MY LAD.

TUNE-Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad.

O WHISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad;
Though father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.

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