But the cheerful spring came kindly on,

And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn came up again, And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To show their deadly rage.

They 've ta'en a weapon long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

John Barleycorn.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;

They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor
To work him further woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted o'er a scorching flame
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones.

And they ha'e ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drunk it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,

Of noble enterprise;

For if you do but taste his blood,

'Twill make your courage rise.

"Twill make a man forget his woe; "Twill heighten all his joy;

"Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Though the tear were in her eye.

29

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

THE RIGS O' BARLEY.

TUNE-"Corn rigs are bonnie."

Ir was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa' to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, and barley rigs,

And corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down wi' right good will
Amang the rigs o' barley;

I kent her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;

Her Flowing Locks.

I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley;

But by the moon and stars sae bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I ha'e been blithe wi' comrades dear;
I ha'e been merry drinkin';
I ha'e been joyfu' gath'rin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkin';
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

HER FLOWING LOCKS.

HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,

An' round that neck entwine her!

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
Oh, what a feast her bonnie mou' !
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.*

TUNE-"The weaver and his shuttle, O."

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O, And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O; He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O;

For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O; Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great

was charming, 0:

My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O;

Resolv'd was I at least to try to mend my situation,O. In many a way, and vain essay, I courted fortune's favour, O;

Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O.

*"This song is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification: but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over." - Burns's Reliques, p. 329.