The Complete Works of Robert Burns Part 161

CCx.x.xVIII.

MY NANNIE'S AWA.

Tune--"_There'll never be peace._"

[Clarinda, tradition avers, was the inspirer of this song, which the poet composed in December, 1794, for the work of Thomson. His thoughts were often in Edinburgh: on festive occasions, when, as Campbell beautifully says, "The wine-cup s.h.i.+nes in light," he seldom forgot to toast Mrs. Mac.]

I.

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

II.

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, They mind me o' Nannie--and Nanny's awa!

III.

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

IV.

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray, And soothe me with tidings o' nature's decay: The dark dreary winter, and wild driving snaw, Alane can delight me--now Nannie's awa!

CCx.x.xIX.

O WHA IS SHE THAT LOVES ME.

Tune--"_Morag._"

["This song," says Sir Harris Nicolas, "is said, in Thomson's collection, to have been written for that work by Burns: but it is not included in Mr. Cunningham's edition." If sir Harris would be so good as to look at page 245; vol. V., of Cunningham's edition of Burns, he will find the song; and if he will look at page 28, and page 193 of vol. III., of his own edition, he will find that he has not committed the error of which he accuses his fellow-editor, for he has inserted the same song twice. The same may be said of the song to Chloris, which Sir Harris has printed at page 312, vol. II,. and at page 189, vol. III., and of "Ae day a braw wooer came down the lang glen," which appears both at page 224 of vol. II., and at page 183 of vol, III.]

I.

O wha is she that lo'es me, And has my heart a-keeping?

O sweet is she that lo'es me, As dews of simmer weeping, In tears the rosebuds steeping!

O that's the la.s.sie of my heart, My la.s.sie ever dearer; O that's the queen of womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her.

II.

If thou shalt meet a la.s.sie In grace and beauty charming, That e'en thy chosen la.s.sie, Erewhile thy breast sae warming Had ne'er sic powers alarming.

III.

If thou hadst heard her talking, And thy attentions plighted, That ilka body talking, But her by thee is slighted, And thou art all delighted.

IV.

If thou hast met this fair one; When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one, But her, thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted; O that's the la.s.sie o' my heart, My la.s.sie ever dearer; O that's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her.

CCXL.

CALEDONIA.

Tune--"_Caledonian Hunt's Delight._"

[There is both knowledge of history and elegance of allegory in this singular lyric: it was first printed by Currie.]

I.

There was once a day--but old Time then was young-- That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung, (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heav'nly relations there fixed her reign, And pledg'd her their G.o.dheads to warrant it good.

II.

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore "Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!"

With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort, Her darling amus.e.m.e.nt, the hounds and the horn.

III.

Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand: Repeated, successive, for many long years, They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly-- The daring invaders they fled or they died.

IV.

The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the sh.o.r.e; The wild Scandinavian boar issu'd forth To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore; O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; But brave Caledonia in vain they a.s.sail'd, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.

V.

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose, With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose, And robb'd him at once of his hope and his life: The Anglian lion, the terror of France, Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood: But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood.

VI.

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: For brave Caledonia immortal must be; I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose, The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; Then ergo, she'll match them, and match them always.