Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 89

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

498. The Banks o' Doon

YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, How can ye blume sae fair!

How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird, That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang, And wistna o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, To see the woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its luve, And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose Upon a morn in June; And sae I flourish'd on the morn, And sae was pu'd or' noon.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose Upon its th.o.r.n.y tree; But my fause luver staw my rose, And left the thorn wi' me.

or'] ere. staw] stole.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

499. 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!

wage] stake, plight.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

500. Bonnie Lesley

O SAW ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the Border?

She 's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her, And love but her for ever; For Nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee: Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he couldna scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; He'd look into thy bonnie face And say, 'I canna wrang thee!'

The Powers aboon will tent thee, Misfortune sha'na steer thee: Thou'rt like themsel' sae lovely, That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a la.s.s There 's nane again sae bonnie!

scaith] harm. tent] watch. steer] molest.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

501. Highland Mary

YE banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom!

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But oh! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly!

And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary.

drumlie] miry.

Robert Burns. 1759-1796

502. O were my Love yon Lilac fair

O WERE my Love yon lilac fair, Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, And I a bird to shelter there, When wearied on my little wing; How I wad mourn when it was torn By autumn wild and winter rude!

But I wad sing on wanton wing When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

O gin my Love were yon red rose That grows upon the castle wa', And I mysel a drap o' dew, Into her bonnie breast to fa'; O there, beyond expression blest, I'd feast on beauty a' the night; Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' light.