Air--"_Nancy's to the
greenwood
gane.
Robert Forst
" It must be owned that the bard could render very pretty reasons
for his rapture about Jean Lorimer. ]
I.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
And say thoul't be my dearie, O?
II.
And when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
III.
When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love my dearie, O.
IV.
And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
* * * * *
CCXXXIV.
FAREWELL, THOU STREAM.
Air--"_Nancy's to the greenwood gane. _"
[This song was written in November, 1794: Thomson pronounced it
excellent. ]
I.
Farewell, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!
O mem'ry! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.
II.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.
I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer--
For pity's sake forgive me!
III.
The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
'Till fears no more had sav'd me:
The unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing;
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.
* * * * *
CCXXXV.
O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY.
Tune-"_The Sow's Tail. _"
["This morning" (19th November, 1794), "though a keen blowing frost,"
Burns writes to Thomson, "in my walk before breakfast I finished my
duet: whether I have uniformly succeeded, I will not say: but here it
is for you, though it is not an hour old. "]
HE.
for his rapture about Jean Lorimer. ]
I.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
And say thoul't be my dearie, O?
II.
And when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
III.
When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love my dearie, O.
IV.
And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
* * * * *
CCXXXIV.
FAREWELL, THOU STREAM.
Air--"_Nancy's to the greenwood gane. _"
[This song was written in November, 1794: Thomson pronounced it
excellent. ]
I.
Farewell, thou stream that winding flows
Around Eliza's dwelling!
O mem'ry! spare the cruel throes
Within my bosom swelling:
Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain,
And yet in secret languish,
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein,
Nor dare disclose my anguish.
II.
Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.
I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer--
For pity's sake forgive me!
III.
The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
'Till fears no more had sav'd me:
The unwary sailor thus aghast,
The wheeling torrent viewing;
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last
In overwhelming ruin.
* * * * *
CCXXXV.
O PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT DAY.
Tune-"_The Sow's Tail. _"
["This morning" (19th November, 1794), "though a keen blowing frost,"
Burns writes to Thomson, "in my walk before breakfast I finished my
duet: whether I have uniformly succeeded, I will not say: but here it
is for you, though it is not an hour old. "]
HE.
