_"
[All that Burns says about the authorship of The Lazy Mist, is, "This
song is mine.
[All that Burns says about the authorship of The Lazy Mist, is, "This
song is mine.
Robert Burns
If thou should kiss me, love,
Wha could espy thee?
If thou wad be my love,
Jamie, come try me.
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me;
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.
* * * * *
LXXII.
MY BONNIE MARY.
Tune--"_Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. _"
[Concerning this fine song, Burns in his notes says, "This air is
Oswald's: the first half-stanza of the song is old, the rest is mine. "
It is believed, however, that the whole of the song is from his hand:
in Hogg and Motherwell's edition of Burns, the starting lines are
supplied from an olden strain: but some of the old strains in that
work are to be regarded with suspicion. ]
I.
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine,
An' fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonnie lassie;
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith;
Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
II.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o' war are heard afar,
The battle closes thick and bloody;
It's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar--
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.
* * * * *
LXXIII.
THE LAZY MIST.
Tune--"_The lazy mist.
_"
[All that Burns says about the authorship of The Lazy Mist, is, "This
song is mine. " The air, which is by Oswald, together with the words,
is in the Musical Museum. ]
I.
The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear!
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,
How quick Time is flying, how keen Fate pursues!
II.
How long have I liv'd, but how much liv'd in vain!
How little of life's scanty span may remain!
What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn!
What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn!
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd!
And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd!
Life is not worth having with all it can give--
For something beyond it poor man sure must live.
* * * * *
LXXIV.
THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.
