Robert Burns: How To Know Him Part 20

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, Bonnie la.s.sie, Lawland la.s.sie, And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, Bonnie Lawland la.s.sie.

Glory, Honour, now invite, Bonnie la.s.sie, Lawland la.s.sie, For Freedom and my King to fight, Bonnie Lawland la.s.sie.

The sun a backward course shall take, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, Ere aught thy manly courage shake, Bonnie Highland laddie.

Go, for yoursel procure renown, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, And for your lawful King his crown, Bonnie Highland laddie!

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY

Bannocks o' bear meal, [Cakes, barley]

Bannocks o' barley; Here's to the Highlandman's Bannocks o' barley.

Wha in a brulzie [broil]

Will first cry a parley?

Never the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley.

Bannocks o' bear meal, Bannocks o' barley; Here's to the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley; Wha in his wae-days [woful-]

Were loyal to Charlie?

Wha but the lads wi'

The bannocks o' barley.

KENMURE'S ON AND AWA

O, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!

O, Kenmure's on and awa!

And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!

Success to Kenmure's band; There's no a heart that fears a Whig That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie!

Here's Kenmure's health in wine; There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, [blood]

Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie!

O, Kenmure's lads are men; Their hearts and swords are metal true, And that their faes shall ken.

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie!

They'll live or die wi' fame; But soon, wi' sounding victorie, May Kenmure's lord come hame!

Here's him that's far awa, Willie!

Here's him that's far awa; And here's the flower that I lo'e best-- The rose that's like the snaw!

THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME

By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey: And as he was singing, the tears down came-- 'There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

'The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame-- There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

'My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, [handsome]

And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd; [weep, churchyard]

It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame-- There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

'Now life is a burden that bows me down, Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; [lost, children]

But till my last moment my words are the same-- There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.'

I HAE BEEN AT CROOKIEDEN

I hae been at Crookieden-- [h.e.l.l]

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

Viewing Willie and his men-- [Duke of c.u.mberland]

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

There our foes that burnt and slew-- My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

There at last they gat their due-- My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

Satan sits in his black neuk-- [corner]

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

Breaking sticks to roast the Duke-- My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

The b.l.o.o.d.y monster gae a yell-- [gave]

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

And loud the laugh gaed round a' h.e.l.l-- [went]

My bonie laddie, Highland laddie!

CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING

'Twas on a Monday morning Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town-- The Young Chevalier!

CHORUS

An' Charlie he's my darling, My darling, my darling, Charlie he's my darling-- The Young Chevalier!

As he was walking up the street The city for to view, O, there he spied a bonie la.s.s The window looking thro!

Sae light's he jumped up the stair, And tirl'd at the pin; [rattled]

And wha sae ready as hersel'

To let the laddie in!

He set his Jenny on his knee, All in his Highland dress; And brawlie weel he kend the way To please a bonie la.s.s.

It's up yon heathery mountain And down yon scraggy glen, We daurna gang a-milking For Charlie and his men!

Such in nature and origin are the songs of Burns. Of some three hundred written or rewritten by him, a large number are negligible in estimating his poetical capacity. One cause lay in his unfortunate ambition to write in the style of his eighteenth-century predecessors in English, with the accompanying mythological allusions, personifications, and sc.r.a.ps of artificial diction. Another was his pathetic eagerness to supply Thomson with material in his undertaking to preserve the old melodies--an eagerness which often led him to send in verses of which he himself felt that their only defense was that they were better than none. Thus his collected works are burdened with a considerable ma.s.s of very indifferent stuff. But when this has all been removed, we have left a body of song such as probably no writer in any language has bequeathed to his country. It is marked, first of all, by its peculiar harmony of expression with the utterance of the common people. Direct and simple, its diction was still capable of carrying intense feeling, a humor incomparable in its archness and sly mirth, and a power of idealizing ordinary experience without effort or affectation. The union of these words with the traditional melodies, on which we have so strongly insisted, gave them a superb singing quality, which has had as much to do with their popularity as their thought or their feeling. This union, however, has its drawbacks when we come to consider the songs as literature; for to present them as here in bare print without the living tune is to perpetuate a divorce which their author never contemplated. No editor of Burns can fail to feel a pang when he thinks that these words may be heard by ears that carry no echo of the airs to which they were born. Here lies the fundamental reason for what seems to outsiders the exaggerated estimate of Burns in the judgment of his countrymen. What they extol is not mere literature, but song, the combination of poetry and music; and it is only when Burns is judged as an artist in this double sense that he is judged fairly.