On Andrew Turner.

IN se❜enteen hunder 'n forty-nine,
The deil gat stuff to mak a swine,
An' coost it in a corner;
But wilily he chang'd his plan,
An' shap'd it something like a man,
An' ca'd it Andrew Turner.

Pretty Peg.1

As I gaed up by yon gate-end,
When day was waxin weary,
Wha did I meet come down the street,
But pretty Peg, my dearie!

Her air sae sweet, an' shape complete,
Wi' nae proportion wanting,
The Queen of Love did never move
Wi' motion mair enchanting.

Wi' linked hands we took the sands,
Adown yon winding river;

Oh, that sweet hour and shady bower,
Forget it shall I never!

Esteem for Chloris.2

AH, Chloris, since it may not be,
That thou of love wilt hear;
If from the lover thou maun flee,
Yet let the friend be dear.

1 Of not very certain authorship.

* Esteem for Miss Lorimer may have been a genuine sentiment.

HOW LANG AND DREARY

Altho' I love my Chloris mair
Than ever tongue could tell;
My passion I will ne'er declare
I'll say, I wish thee well.

Tho' a' my daily care thou art,
And a' my nightly dream,
I'll hide the struggle in my heart,
And say it is esteem.

Saw ye my Dear, my Philly.1

Tune-"When she cam' ben she bobbit."

O SAW ye my Dear, my Philly?
O saw ye my Dear, my Philly,

She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new Love,
She winna come hame to her Willy.

What says she my dear, my Philly?
What says she my dear, my Philly?
She lets thee to wit she has thee forgot,
And forever disowns thee, her Willy.

O had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly!
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Philly!
As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy.

How Lang and Dreary is the Night.2

How lang and dreary is the night

When I am frae my Dearie;

I restless lie frae e'en to morn
Though I were ne'er sae weary.

1 Omitted, not unjustly, by Thomson from his musical publication.

2 Chloris is celebrated to the tune of Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.

Chorus.-For oh, her lanely nights are lang!
And oh, her dreams are eerie;

And oh, her widow'd heart is sair,
That's absent frae her Dearie !

When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my Dearie;
And now what seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie ?
For oh, &c.

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
The joyless day how dreary:
It was na sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my Dearie !
For oh, &c.

Inconstancy in Love.1

Tune-"Duncan Gray."

LET not Woman e'er complain
Of inconstancy in love;
Let not Woman e'er complain
Fickle Man is apt to rove:
Look abroad thro' Nature's range,
Nature's mighty Law is change,
Ladies, would it not seem strange

Man should then a monster prove!

Mark the winds, and mark the skies,
Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow,
Sun and moon but set to rise,

Round and round the seasons go.
Why then ask of silly Man
To oppose great Nature's plan?
We'll be constant while we can—

You can be no more you know.

1 "I have been at Duncan Gray to dress it in English, but all I can do is

deplorably stupid," Burns writes to Thomson (Oct. 19, 1794).

E

THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE

ㄡˋ

The Lover's morning salute to his Mistress.1

Tune-"Deil tak the wars.'

SLEEP'ST thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature?

Rosy morn now lifts his eye,

Numbering ilka bud which Nature

Waters wi' the tears o' joy.

Now, to the streaming fountain,

Or up the heathy mountain,

The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;

In twining hazel bowers,
Its lay the linnet pours,2
The laverock to the sky
Ascends, wi' sangs o' joy,

While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.

Phoebus gilding the brow of morning,

Banishes ilk darksome shade,

Nature, gladdening and adorning ;
Such to me my lovely maid.

When frae my Chloris parted,

Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,

The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky: 8

But when she charms my sight,

In pride of Beauty's light

When thro' my very heart

Her burning glories dart;

'Tis then-'tis then I wake to life and joy!

1 Burns says that he met a lady at dinner: "As usual I got into song, and returning home I composed the following."

2 Otherwise

"Now through the leafy woods,
And by the reeking floods,
Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly

stray:

The lintwhite in his bower

Chants o'er the breathing flower, &a"

8" When absent from my fair, The murky shades of care With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; &c.

The Winter of Life.1

BUT lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoic'd the day,

Thro' gentle showers, the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay:
But now our joys are fled
On winter blasts awa;
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.

But my white pow, nae kindly thoweb
Shall melt the snaws of Age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,d
Sinks in Time's wintry rage.

с

Oh, Age has weary days,

And nights o' sleepless pain:

Thou golden time, o' Youthfu' prime,

Why comes thou not again!

Behold, my Love, how green the Groves.

• head.

"

Tune-"My lodging is on the cold ground."

8

BEHOLD, my love, how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flowing hair.

1 Written "to an East Indian air which you would swear was a Scottish one. Burns was persuaded of its authenticity. It does not seem necessary to believe that Burns referred to premature old age in himself.

2 November 1794.-On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is

d without bush or shelter.

the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an idea which, on my return from the visit, I wrought into the following song. (Burns to Thomson.)

Originally "My Chloris, mark," and "flaxen hair," but in February 1796 Burns objected both to her name and style of beauty.