Fu' aft at e'en wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blithe and merry,
I cared na by, sae sad was I,

In absence o' my dearie.

But, praise be blest, my mind's at rest,
I'm happy wi' my Johnny:

At kirk and fair, I'se aye be there,
And be as canty's ony.

AS I WAS A WANDERING.

TUNE-Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh.

As I was a wandering ae midsummer e'enin',
The pipers and youngsters were making their game;
Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover,
Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again.

Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him;
I may be distressed, but I winna complain;
I flatter my fancy I may get anither,

My heart it shall never be broken for ane.

I couldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin',
The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain:
Had I na got greetin', my heart wad ha' broken,
For oh! love forsaken's a tormenting pain.

Although he has left me for greed o' the siller,
I dinna envy him the gains he can win;
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow
Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him.

[Burns has here merely made some changes upon an old song, and it is ques tionable if his alterations are improvements.]

THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.

TUNE-The Weary Pund o' Tow.

The weary pund, the weary pund,
The weary pund o' tow;
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.

I bought my wife a stane o' lint
As guid as e'er did grow;
And a' that she has made o' that,
Is ae poor pund o' tow.

SONGS IMPROVED.

There sat a bottle in a bole,
Beyont the ingle lowe,

And aye she took the tither souk,
To drouk the stowrie tow.

Quoth I, for shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!
She took the rock, and wi' a knock
She brak it o'er my pow.

At last her feet-I sang to see't-
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;
And or I wad anither jad,
I'll wallop in a tow.

GANE IS THE DAY.

TUNE-Guidwife, count the Lawin.

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light,
For ale and brandy's stars and moon,
And bluid-red wine's the rising sun.
Then guidwife, count the lawin,
The lawin, the lawin;

Then guidwife, count the lawin,
And bring a coggie mair.

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen,
And simple folk maun fight and fen;
But here we're a' in ae accord,

For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.

My coggie is a haly pool,

That heals the wounds o' care and dool;
And pleasure is a wanton trout,

An ye drink but deep ye'll find him out.

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNIE FACE.

TUNE-The Maid's Complaint.

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face

Nor shape that I admire,

Although thy beauty and thy grace
Might weel awake desire.

261

Something, in ilka part o' thee,
To praise, to love, I find;
But dear as is thy form to me,
Still dearer is thy mind.

Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae,
Nor stronger in my breast,
Than if I canna mak thee sae,
At least to see thee blest.
Content am I, if Heaven shall give
But happiness to thee:

And as wi' thee I'd wish to live,
For thee I'd bear to die.

MY COLLIER LADDIE.

TUNE-The Collier Laddie.

Where live ye, my bonnie lass?
And tell me what they ca' ye;
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean,
And I follow the Collier Laddie.

See you not yon hills and dales,

The sun shines on sae brawlie!

They a' are mine, and they shall be thine,
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.

Ye shall gang in gay attire,

Weel buskit up sae gaudy;
And ane to wait on every hand,

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie.
Though ye had a' the sun shines on,

And the earth conceals sae lowly;
I wad turn my back on you and it a',
And embrace my Collier Laddie.

I can win my five pennies in a day,
And spen't at night fu' brawlie;
And make my bed in the Collier's neuk,
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie.

Luve for luve is the bargain for me,

Though the wee cot-house should haud me;
And the world before me to win my bread,

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie.

[Burns, in his Notes, speaks of this song as an old one with which he had had nothing to do. As it appears, however, in no other collection, and is found in his handwriting among Johnson's manuscripts, Mr Stenhouse infers that the greater part of it is his own composition.]

SONGS IMPROVED.

263

YE JACOBITES BY NAME.

TUNE-Ye Jacobites by Name.

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear;`
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear;

Ye Jacobites by name,

Your fautes I will proclaim,

Your doctrines I maun blame-
You shall hear.

What is right and what is wrang by the law, by the law?
What is right and what is wrang by the law?
What is right and what is wrang?

A short sword and a lang,

A weak arm, and a strang
For to draw.

What makes heroic strife famed afar, famed afar?
What makes heroic strife famed afar?

What makes heroic strife?

To whet th' assassin's knife,

Or hunt a parent's life

Wi' bluidie war.

Then let your schemes alone in the state, in the state;
Then let your schemes alone in the state;

Then let your schemes alone

Adore the rising sun,

And leave a man undone

To his fate.

LADY MARY ANN.

TUNE-Craigton's Growing.

['Modelled by Burns from an ancient ballad, entitled Craigton's Growing.

Stenhouse.]

Oh, Lady Mary Ann looked o'er the castle wa';
She saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba';
The youngest he was the flower amang them a'-
My bonnie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet.

O father! O father! an ye think it fit,
We'll send him a year to the college yet:
We'll sew a green ribbon round about his hat,
And that will let them ken he's to marry yet.

Lady Mary Ann was a flower i' the dew,
Sweet was its smell, and bonnie was its hue;
And the langer it blossomed the sweeter it grew:
For the lily in the bud will be bonnier yet.

Young Charlie Cochrane was the sprout of an aik;
Bonnie and bloomin' and straught was its make:
The sun took delight to shine for its sake,

And it will be the brag o' the forest yet.

The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green,
And the days are awa that we hae seen;

But far better days I trust will come again,
For my bonnie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet.

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA.

TUNE-O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie.

O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!
O Kenmure's on and awa!

And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!
Success to Kenmure's band;
There's no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,
Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!

O Kenmure's lads are men;

Their hearts and swords are metal true

And that their faes shall ken.

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie !
They'll live or die wi' fame;
But soon, wi' sounding victorie,

May Kenmure's lord come hame.

Here's him that's far awa, Willie !

Here's him that's far awa!

And here's the flower that I love best

The rose that's like the snaw!

[This song is supposed to be one of those which Burns only improved from old versions. William Gordon, sixth Viscount of Kenmure, raised a body of troops for the Pretender in 1715, and had the chief command of the insurgent forces in the south of Scotland. Taken at Preston, he was tried and condemned to be beheaded, which sentence was executed on the 24th February 1716. His forfeited estate was bought back by his widow, and transmitted to their son. By the son of that son-afterwards Viscount of Kenmure in consequence of the restoration of the title-Burns was on one occasion entertained at his romantic seat of Kenmure Castle, near New Galloway.]