This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!
Robert Forst
]
I.
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
II.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in op'ning flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.
* * * * *
CXLV.
THE BAIRNS GAT OUT.
Tune--"_The deuks dang o'er my daddie. _"
[Burns found some of the sentiments and a few of the words of this
song in a strain, rather rough and home-spun, of Scotland's elder day.
He communicated it to the Museum. ]
I.
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O!
The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin body, O!
He paidles out, an' he paidles in,
An' he paidles late an' early, O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!
II.
O, hand your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
And cuddled me late and early, O!
But downa do's come o'er me now,
And, oh! I feel it sairly, O!
* * * * *
CXLVI.
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
Tune--"_She's fair and fause. _"
[One of the happiest as well as the most sarcastic of the songs of the
North: the air is almost as happy as the words. ]
I.
She's fair and fause that causes my smart,
I lo'ed her meikle and lang;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.
II.
Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has't by kind.
I.
Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
II.
My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And gie it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in op'ning flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I'll love my gallant weaver.
* * * * *
CXLV.
THE BAIRNS GAT OUT.
Tune--"_The deuks dang o'er my daddie. _"
[Burns found some of the sentiments and a few of the words of this
song in a strain, rather rough and home-spun, of Scotland's elder day.
He communicated it to the Museum. ]
I.
The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O!
The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin body, O!
He paidles out, an' he paidles in,
An' he paidles late an' early, O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
An' he is but a fusionless carlie, O!
II.
O, hand your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
And cuddled me late and early, O!
But downa do's come o'er me now,
And, oh! I feel it sairly, O!
* * * * *
CXLVI.
SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.
Tune--"_She's fair and fause. _"
[One of the happiest as well as the most sarcastic of the songs of the
North: the air is almost as happy as the words. ]
I.
She's fair and fause that causes my smart,
I lo'ed her meikle and lang;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart,
And I may e'en gae hang.
A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear;
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.
II.
Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,
Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has't by kind.
