KELLY BURN BRAES The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green, But far better days I trust will come again; For my bonie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet Kelly Burn Braes.1 THERE lived a carl in Kelly Burn Braes, Ae day as the carl gaed up the lang glen, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; I've got a bad wife, sir, that's a' my complaint, It's neither your stot nor your staige I shall crave, "O welcome most kindly!" the blythe carl said, The Devil has got the auld wife on his back, He's carried her hame to his ain hallan door,a Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wudb bear, A reekit wee deevil looks over the wa', Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; "O help, maister, help, or she'll ruin us a'!" And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime; The Devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, The Devil he swore by the kirk and the bell, Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack, I hae been a Deevil the feck o' my life, Hey, and the rue grows bonie wi' thyme; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. ■ house-door. b mad. • smoked. d most. O CAN YE LABOUR LEA The Slave's Lament.1 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more And alas! I am weary, weary 0. All on that charming coast is no bitter snow and frost, There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow, 0: There streams for ever flow, and there flowers for ever blow, And alas! I am weary, weary, O. The burden I must bear, while the cruel scourge I fear, And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, And I think on friends most dear, with the bitter, bitter tear, And alas! I am weary, weary O. O can ye Labour Lea ?2 Chorus-O can ye labour lea, young man, It fee nor bountitha shall us twineb ⚫ bounty. 1 "The air is supposed to be Native African." (Scott Douglas). 2 To labour lea is to plough up old pasture-land. b part. The copy in Johnson's Museum has the variations noted below. 3" Gae back the gate ye came again; Ye'se never scorn me. s earnest. I FEE'D a man at Michaelmas,1 O clappin's gude in Febarwar, O kissin is the key o' luve, The deuks dang o'er my Daddie.s THE bairns gat out wi' an uncob shout, е An' he paidles late and early, O! This seven lang years I hae lien by his side, O haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife, Ye wad na been sae donsie, O. b awful. 2 THE COUNTRY LASS I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, The Deil's awa wi' the Exciseman.1 The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman, He's danc'd awa wi' the Exciseman. We'll mak our maut, and we'll brew our drink, And mony braw thanks to the meikle black deil, The deil's awa, &c. There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, The Country Lass. IN simmer, when the hay was mawn, • want of power. b clover. 1 Scott's friend, Joseph Train, told Lockhart that Burns composed this at the arrest of a suspicious brig. Scott quoted it in a letter to Lockhart when Mr Train himself accidentally fell into ⚫ sheltered spot. an open grave. Doubt is cast on the story that Burns presented the brig's guns to the French. 2 This owes only its tune to times past. |