Oft have I met your social band, And spent the cheerful, festive night; Oft, honour'd with supreme command, Presided o'er the sons of light: And by that hieroglyphic bright, Which none but craftsmen ever saw! Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write Those happy scenes when far awa'! May freedom, harmony, and love, And You, farewell! whose merits claim, * Sir John Whiteford, the Grand Master. AND MAUN I STILL ON MENIE* DOAT. TUNE JOCKEY'S GREY BREEKS.' AGAIN rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, CHORUS.+ And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? In vain to me the cowslips blaw, The merry ploughboy cheers his team, A dream of ane that never wauks. * Menie is the common abbreviation of Marianne. R. B. + This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author's. R. B. Allan Cunningham says, Burns adopted the chorus, because it contained the name of Marianne, of which lady, however, nothing is known. The wanton coot the water skims, The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, I meet him on the dewy hill. And maun I still, &c. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Come Winter, with thine angry howl, And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be. HIGHLAND MARY.† TUNE KATHARINE OGIE.' Yz banks, and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, There simmer first unfald her robes, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, + " Highland Mary" was Mary Campbell, of whom a notice will be found under his beautiful lines to " Mary in Heaven," and the song My Highland Lassie." On the 15th November, 1792, Burns sent this song to Mr. Thomson in the following letter: "I agree with you, that the song 'Katharine Ogie' is very poor stuff, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of so beautiful an air. I tried to mend it; but the awkward sound Ogie,' recurring so often in the rhyme, spoils every attempt at introducing sentiment into the piece. The foregoing song pleases myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you will see at first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all, 'tis the still glowing prejudice of my heart, that throws a borrowed lustre over the merits of the composition." The golden hours, on angel wings, Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, But Oh! fell death's untimely frost, Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, But still within my bosom's core |