Robert Burns

Tune - "Bide ye yet."



I.

    O Mary, at thy window be,
        It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
    Those smiles and glances let me see
        That make the miser's treasure poor:
    How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
        A weary slave frae sun to sun;
    Could I the rich reward secure,
        The lovely Mary Morison!

II.

    Yestreen, when to the trembling string
        The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
    To thee my fancy took its wing,
        I sat, but neither heard or saw:
    Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
        And yon the toast of a' the town,
    I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
        "Ye are na Mary Morison."

III.

    O Mary, canst thou wreck hi...

Tune - "Blue Bonnets."


I.

    Powers celestial! whose protection
        Ever guards the virtuous fair,
    While in distant climes I wander,
        Let my Mary be your care:
    Let her form sae fair and faultless,
        Fair and faultless as your own,
    Let my Mary's kindred spirit
        Draw your choicest influence down.

II.

    Make the gales you waft around her
        Soft and peaceful as her breast;
    Breathing in the breeze that fans her,
        Soothe her bosom into rest:
    Guardian angels! O protect her,
        When in distant lands I roam;
    To realms unknown while fate exiles me,
        Make her bosom still my home.

Air - "Hey! bonnie lass, will you lie in a barrack?"



I.

    O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
    She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller,
    And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.

II.

    The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy;
    A heart like a lord and a hue like a lady:
    The Laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl;
    She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the churl.

III.

    The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving;
    The Laird did address her wi' matter mair moving,
    A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle,
    A whip by her side and a bonnie side-saddle.

IV.

    O wae on the siller, it is sae...

Tune - "My tocher's the jewel."


I.

    O Meikle thinks my luve o' my beauty,
        And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin;
    But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie
        My tocher's the jewel has charms for him.
    It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree;
        It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee;
    My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,
        He canna hae lure to spare for me.

II.

    Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny,
        My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy;
    But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin',
        Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try.
    Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten tree,
        Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread,
    And ye'll crack your credit wi' ...

Tune. - "Johnny's grey breeks."


I.

    Again rejoicing nature sees
        Her robe assume its vernal hues,
    Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
        All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
            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.

II.

    In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
        In vain to me the vi'lets spring;
    In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
        The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

III.

    The merry plough-boy cheers his team,
        Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks;
    But life to me's a weary dream,
        A dream of ane t...

Tune - "Lord Breadalbone's March."


I.

    O merry hae I been teethin' a heckle,
        And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
    O merry hae I been cloutin a kettle,
        And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.
    O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,
        An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
    A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,
        An' a' the lang night as happy's a king.

II.

    Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins,
        O' marrying Bess to gie her a slave:
    Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens,
        And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave.
    Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,
        An' come to my arms and kiss me again!
    Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!
  ...

    How cold is that bosom which folly once fired,
        How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten'd!
    How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired,
        How dull is that ear which to flattery so listen'd!

    If sorrow and anguish their exit await,
        From friendship and dearest affection remov'd;
    How doubly severer, Maria, thy fate,
        Thou diest unwept as thou livedst unlov'd.

    Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you;
        So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear:
    But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true,
        And flowers let us cull for Maria's cold bier.

    We'll search through the garden for each silly flower,
        We'll roam through the forest for each idle weed;
    But chie...

Tune - "Galla-Water."


I.

    Altho' my bed were in yon muir,
        Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
    Yet happy, happy would I be,
        Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy.

II.

    When o'er the hill beat surly storms,
        And winter nights were dark and rainy;
    I'd seek some dell, and in my arms
        I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy.

III.

    Were I a baron proud and high,
        And horse and servants waiting ready,
    Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me,
        The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.

Tune - "Druimion dubh."


I.

    Musing on the roaring ocean,
        Which divides my love and me;
    Wearying heaven in warm devotion,
        For his weal where'er he be.

II.

    Hope and fear's alternate billow
        Yielding late to nature's law,
    Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
        Talk of him that's far awa.

III.

    Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
        Ye who never shed a tear,
    Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
        Gaudy day to you is dear.

IV.

    Gentle night, do thou befriend me;
        Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
    Spirits kind, again attend me,
        Talk of him that's far awa!

I.

    When o'er the hill the eastern star
        Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo;
    And owsen frae the furrow'd field
        Return sae dowf and weary, O!
    Down by the burn, where scented birks[1]
        Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo;
    I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,
        My ain kind dearie O!

II.

    In mirkest glen, at midnight hour,
        I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O;
    If thro' that glen I gaed to thee,
        My ain kind dearie O!
    Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild,
        And I were ne'er sae wearie, O,
    I'd meet thee on the lea-rig,
        My ain kind dearie O!

III.

    The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
        To rouse the mountain deer, my jo;
    A...

Tune - "Go fetch to me a pint o' wine."


I.

    Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
        An' fill it in a silver tassie;
    That I may drink, before I go,
        A service to my bonnie lassie;
    The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;
        Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;
    The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
        And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

II.

    The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
        The glittering spears are ranked ready;
    The shouts o' war are heard afar,
        The battle closes thick and bloody;
    It's not the roar o' sea or shore
        Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
    Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar,
        It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

Tune - "The Collier Laddie."


I.

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

II.

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

III.

    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.
    And ane to wa...

Tune - "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O."


I.

    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.

II.

    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, O:
    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.

III.

    In many a way, and vain essay,
        I courted fortune's favour, O;

Tune - "Highland's Lament."


I.

    My Harry was a gallant gay,
        Fu' stately strode he on the plain:
    But now he's banish'd far away,
        I'll never see him back again,
                O for him back again!
                    O for him back again!
                I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land
                    For Highland Harry back again.

II.

    When a' the lave gae to their bed,
        I wander dowie up the glen;
    I set me down and greet my fill,
        And ay I wish him back again.

III.

    O were some villains hangit high.
        And ilka body had their ain!
    Then I might see the joyfu' sight,
        My Highland Harry back again.
                O for him bac...

Tune - "Tam Glen."


I.

    My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!
        Some counsel unto me come len',
    To anger them a' is a pity,
        But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

II.

    I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow,
        In poortith I might make a fen';
    What care I in riches to wallow,
        If I maunna marry Tam Glen?

III.

    There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
        "Gude day to you, brute!" he comes ben:
    He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
        But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

IV.

    My minnie does constantly deave me,
        And bids me beware o' young men;
    They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
        But wha can think so o' Tam Glen?

Tune - "To the weavers gin ye go."


I.

    My heart was ance as blythe and free
        As simmer days were lang,
    But a bonnie, westlin weaver lad
        Has gart me change my sang.
            To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
                To the weavers gin ye go;
            I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
                To the weavers gin ye go.

II.

    My mither sent me to the town,
        To warp a plaiden wab;
    But the weary, weary warpin o't
        Has gart me sigh and sab.

III.

    A bonnie westlin weaver lad,
        Sat working at his loom;
    He took my heart as wi' a net,
        In every knot and thrum.

IV.

    I sat beside my warpin-whee...

Tune - "Failte na Miosg."


I.

    My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
    My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
    A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
    My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
    Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
    The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
    Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
    The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

II.

    Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;
    Farewell to the straths and green valleys below:
    Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
    Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
    My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
    My heart's in the Highlands...

Tune - "What will I do gin my Hoggie die?"


    What will I do gin my Hoggie die?
        My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
    My only beast, I had nae mae,
        And vow but I was vogie!
    The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld,
        Me and my faithfu' doggie;
    We heard nought but the roaring linn,
        Amang the braes sae scroggie;
    But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa',
        The blitter frae the boggie,
    The tod reply'd upon the hill,
        I trembled for my Hoggie.
    When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
        The morning it was foggie;
    An' unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
        And maist has kill'd my Hoggie.