Poems And Songs Of Robert Burns Part 105

She. O w.i.l.l.y, aye I bless the grove Where first I own'd my maiden love, Whilst thou did pledge the Powers above, To be my ain dear w.i.l.l.y.

Both. For a' the joys that gowd can gie, I dinna care a single flie; The lad I love's the lad for me, The la.s.s I love's the la.s.s for me, And that's my ain dear w.i.l.l.y.

And that's my ain dear Philly.

He. As songsters of the early year, Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, So ilka day to me mair dear And charming is my Philly.

She. As on the brier the budding rose, Still richer breathes and fairer blows, So in my tender bosom grows The love I bear my w.i.l.l.y.

Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. The milder sun and bluer sky That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye As is a sight o' Philly.

She. The little swallow's wanton wing, Tho' wafting o'er the flowery Spring, Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, As meeting o' my w.i.l.l.y.

Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. The bee that thro' the sunny hour Sips nectar in the op'ning flower, Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly.

She. The woodbine in the dewy weet, When ev'ning shades in silence meet, Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet As is a kiss o' w.i.l.l.y.

Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, And fools may tine and knaves may win; My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, And that's my ain dear Philly.

She. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?

I dinna care a single flie; The lad I love's the lad for me, And that's my ain dear w.i.l.l.y.

Both. For a' the joys, &c.

Contented Wi' Little And Cantie Wi' Mair

Tune--"Lumps o' Puddin'."

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care, I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang, Wi' a cog o' gude swats and an auld Scottish sang.

Chorus--Contented wi' little, &c.

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught; My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my Lairds.h.i.+p nae monarch dare touch.

Contented wi' little, &c.

A townmond o' trouble, should that be may fa', A night o' gude fellows.h.i.+p sowthers it a': When at the blythe end o' our journey at last, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?

Contented wi' little, &c.

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae: Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain, My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!"

Contented wi' little, &c.

Farewell Thou Stream

Air--"Nansie's to the greenwood gane."

Farewell, thou stream that winding flows Around Eliza's dwelling; O mem'ry! spare the cruel thoes Within my bosom swelling.

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain And yet in secret languish; To feel a fire in every vein, Nor dare disclose my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, I fain my griefs would cover; The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair, Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me; But, O Eliza, hear one prayer-- For pity's sake forgive me!

The music of thy voice I heard, Nor wist while it enslav'd me; I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, Till fears no more had sav'd me: Th' unwary sailor thus, aghast The wheeling torrent viewing, 'Mid circling horrors sinks at last, In overwhelming ruin.

Canst Thou Leave Me Thus, My Katie

Tune--"Roy's Wife."

Chorus--Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie?

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie?

Well thou know'st my aching heart, And canst thou leave me thus, for pity?

Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katie?

Is this thy faithful swain's reward-- An aching, broken heart, my Katie!

Canst thou leave me, &c.

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That finkle heart of thine, my Katie!

Thou maysn find those will love thee dear, But not a love like mine, my Katie, Canst thou leave me, &c.

My Nanie's Awa

Tune--"There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame."

Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes; While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw, But to me it's delightless--my Nanie's awa.

The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nanie--and Nanie's awa.

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', Give over for pity--my Nanie's awa.

Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey, And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay: The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw Alane can delight me--now Nanie's awa.