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The Nith shall run to Corsincon,
And Criffel sink to Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally!

O, let us not like snarling tykes
In wrangling be divided,
Till, slap! come in an unco loon
And wi' a rung decide it !
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Amang oursels united,

For never but by British hands
Maun British wrangs be righted!

The kettle o' the Kirk and State,
Perhaps a clout may fail in 't ;
But deil a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in 't.
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought,
And wha wad dare to spoil it,
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!

The wretch that wad a tyrant own,

And the wretch his true-born brother,
Who would set the mob aboon the throne,
May they be damned together!

Who will not sing God save the King.
Shall hang as high's the steeple ;
But while we sing God save the King,
We'll ne'er forget the people.

Robert Burns.

329

O, MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE

O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June!
O, my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune!

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Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he,

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows tree.

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
M'Pherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows tree.

O, what is death but parting breath?
On monie a bloody plain

I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword,

And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word!

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart,
And not avengéd be.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die !

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he,

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows tree.

331

CHARLIE HE'S MY

Robert Burns.

DARLING

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

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

As he was walking up the street
The city for to view,

O, there he spied a bonie lass
The window lookin' through.

Sae light's he jimpéd up the stair,
An' tirled at the pin!

An' wha sae ready as hersel
To let the laddie in?

He set his Jenny on his knee,
A' in his Highland dress;

For brawlie weel he ken'd the way
To please a lassie best.

It's up yon heathery mountain,

An' down yon scroggy glen,
We daur na gang a-milking
For Charlie an' his men!

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

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O MARY, at thy window be-
It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser's treasure poor!
How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,

Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison !

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw :
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,

I sigh'd, and said amang them a':'Ye are na Mary Morison.'

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown:
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

333

Robert Burns.

THE

FAREWELL

It was a' for our rightfu' King
We left fair Scotland's strand :
It was a' for our rightfu' King
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear-

We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain,

My love and native land farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear-

For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore,

And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear-

With adieu for evermore.

The sodger from the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear-

Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,

I think on him that's far awa,
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear-

The lee-lang night, and weep.

334

Robert Burns.

LUCY

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

-Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, O,

The difference to me!

T

William Wordsworth.

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