ALTHOUGH THOU MAUN NEVER BE MINE. BURNS. Air-"Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney." HERE'S a health to ane I lo'e dear, Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear; Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 4 Although thou maun never be mine, Than aught in the world beside-Jessy! I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling ee; But why urge the tender confession 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree-Jessy! Here's a health, &c. "I once mentioned to you," says Burns in a letter to Thomson, "an air which I have long admired, Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney,' but I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more." A great critic has affirmed that the sentiment in the lines commencing, "Although thou maun never be mine,' is unparalleled in modern or ancient poetry for its beauty and depth of feeling. It appears, however, to have been borrowed by Burns from Dryden, and was also employed by other writers. FARE THEE WEEL. BURNS. AE fond kiss, and then we sever; Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Who shall say that fortune grieves him I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ; Deep in heart-wrung tears I pledge thee, OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. BURNS. Air-"Miss Admiral Gordon's strathspey." Or a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. This song was written in celebration of the charms of Jean Armour, afterwards the poet's wife. In some editions there are four stanzas, but the two above quoted are those usually sung, and were the only ones published by the poet himself. The beautiful melody was composed by a "native genius" of the name of Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And sleep thegither at the foot, In the first volume of a collection, entitled "Poetry Original and Selected," printed in penny numbers by Brash and Reid, booksellers of Glasgow, between the years 1795 and 1798, this song is given as follows: John Anderson my jo, John, I wonder what you mean, To rise so soon in the morning, and sit up so late at e'en; John Anderson my jo, John, ye were my first conceit, An' ye maunna think it strange, John, though I ca' ye trim and neat; John Anderson my jo, John, we've seen our bairns' bairns; John Anderson my jo, John, what pleasure does it gie To see sae mony sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you and me; John Anderson my jo, John, when we were first acquaint, "The stanza with which this song," says Dr. Currie, "inserted by Brash and Reid, begins, is the chorus of the old song under this title; and though perfectly suitable to that wicked but witty ballad, it has no accordance with the strain of delicate and tender sentiment of this improved song. In regard to the five other additional stanzas, though they are in the spirit of the two that are unquestionably our bard's, yet every reader of discernment will see they are by an inferior hand; and the real author of them ought neither to have given them, nor suffer them to be given to the world, as the production of Burns. If there were no other mark of their spurious origin, the latter half of the third line in the seventh stanza,-' our hearts were ne'er our foe,'-would be proof sufficient. Many are the instances in which our bard has adopted defective rhymes; but a single instance cannot be produced in which, to preserve the rhyme, he has given a feeble thought in false grammar. These additional stanzas are not, however, without merit, and they may serve to prolong the pleasure which every person of taste must feel from listening to a most happy union of beautiful music with moral sentiments that are singularly interesting." The following three stanzas were published by Brash and Reid, but not quoted by Dr. Currie. The idea is the same as that expressed by Burns, but has not the masterly expression he gave to it. John Anderson my jo, John, Our siller ne'er was rife, Sin' we were man and wife: And that helps to keep peace at hame, John Anderson my jo, John, The world lo'es us baith; We ne'er spak' ill o' neibours, John, Nor did them ony skaith; To live in peace and quietness Was a' our care, ye know; And I'm sure they'll greet when we are dead, John Anderson my jo, John, And when the time is come, That we, like ither auld folk, John, Maun sink into the tomb; A motto we will hae, my John, To let the world know We happy lived, contented died, SAE FLAXEN WERE HER RINGLETS. BURNS. Air-" Onagh's waterfall." SAE flaxen were her ringlets, Bewitchingly o'erarching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling sae wyling Wad make a wretch forget his woe; What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow! |