Sonnet written on the Author's
Birthday,
On hearing a Thrush sing in his Morning Walk.1
SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.
So in lone Poverty's dominion drear,
Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart;
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,
Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.
I thank thee, Author of this opening day!
Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys-
What wealth could never give nor take away!
Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,
The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.
Lord Gregory.2
O MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar;
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory, ope thy door.
An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for sake o' thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.
1 Burns dealt little in sonnets; this
example breaks every formal rule ex-
cept that which restricts the number of lines to fourteen.
2 Based on the old Lass of Lochryan.
Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
By bonie Irwine side,
Where first I own'd that virgin love
I lang, lang had denied.
How aften didst thou pledge and vow
Thou wad for aye be mine!
And my fond heart, itsel❜ sae true,
It ne'er mistrusted thine.
Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory,
And flinty is thy breast:
Thou bolt of Heaven that flashest by,
O, wilt thou bring me rest!
Ye mustering thunders from above,
Your willing victim see;
But spare and pardon my fause Love,
His wrangs to Heaven and me.
Wandering Willie.1
First Version.
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Now tired with wandering, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie,
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting; It was na the blast brought the tear in my e'e: Now welcome the Simmer, and welcome my Willie, The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.
Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o' your slumbers.
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms!
Awaken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie,
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main; May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain!
1 Based on an old song of much beauty.
Wandering Willie.1
Revised Version.
HERE awa, there awa, wandering Willie,
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie,
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting,
Fears for my Willie brought tears in my e'e,
Welcome now Simmer, and welcome my Willie,
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers,
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken ye breezes, row gently ye billows,
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms.
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide roaring main!
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain.
Open the door to me, oh.2
Он, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, oh,
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, oh.
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, oh :
The frost that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh.
The wan Moon is setting behind the white wave,
And Time is setting with me, oh :
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them, nor thee, oh.
Amended to please Thomson, the 2 A popular chant amended. musical publisher.
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide,
She sees the pale corse on the plain, oh :
"My true love!" she cried, and sank down by his side,
Never to rise again, oh.
Lovely young Jessie.1
TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow,
And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr;
But by the sweet side o' the Nith's winding river,
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair:
To equal young JESSIE seek Scotland all over;
To equal young JESSIE you seek it in vain,
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover,
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain.
Fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning,
And sweet is the lily, at evening close;
But in the fair presence o' lovely young JESSIE,
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose.
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring;
Enthron'd in her een he delivers his law:
And still to her charms SHE alone is a stranger;
Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'.
Meg o' the Mill.
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
She's gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller,b
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller.
The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy:
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady;
The laird was a widdifu', bleerit knurl";
She's left the gude fellow, and taen the churl.
1 The heroine was a local beauty, a Miss Staig.
• wretched, blear-eyed dwarf.
2 Written for, but not used by Thomson.
The Miller he hechta 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 bonie side-saddle.
O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailin,
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen b!
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle,
But gie me my love, and a fig for the warl'!
Meg o' the Mill.1
Another Version.
O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten?
A braw new naigd wi' the tail o' a rottan,
And that's what Meg o' the Mill has gotten.
O ken ye what Meg o' the Mill loes dearly,
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill loes dearly?
A dram o' gude strunt' in the morning early,
And that's what Meg o' the Mill loes dearly.
O ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married,
An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was married?
The priest he was oxter'd, the clark he was carried,
And that's how Meg o' the Mill was married.
O ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded,
An' ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was bedded?
The groom gat sae fou', he fell awaldh beside it,
And that's how Meg o' the Mill was bedded.
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