The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 109

"AE FOND KISS"

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of Hope she leaves him?

Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!

Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!

Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!

Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"THE DAY RETURNS"

The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.

Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line,-- Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more,--it made thee mine.

While day and night can bring delight.

Or Nature aught of pleasure give,-- While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live.

When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss,--it breaks my heart.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

MY BONNIE MARY

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver ta.s.sie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie la.s.sie.

The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The s.h.i.+p rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and b.l.o.o.d.y; But it's no the roar o' sea or sh.o.r.e Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar-- It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

A RED, RED ROSE

O, my luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie la.s.s, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only luve!

And fare-thee-weel a while!

And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

I LOVE MY JEAN

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie la.s.sie lives, The la.s.sie I lo'e best: There's wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair: I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o' my Jean.

O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft Amang the leafy trees; Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale Bring hame the laden bees; And bring the la.s.sie back to me That's aye sae neat and clean; Ae smile o' her wad banish care, Sae charming is my Jean.

What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae pa.s.sed atween us twa!

How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa!

The Powers aboon can only ken To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean!

The first two stanzas by Robert Burns [1759-1796]

The last two by John Hamilton [1761-1814]

THE ROVER'S ADIEU From "Rokeby"

"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine.

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green-- No more of me ye knew, My Love!

No more of me ye knew.

"This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again."

--He turned his charger as he spake Upon the river sh.o.r.e, He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said "Adieu for evermore, My Love!

And adieu for evermore."