The Nith shall run to Corsincon, O, let us not like snarling tykes For never but by British hands The kettle o' the Kirk and State, The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, Who will not sing God save the King. Robert Burns. 329 O, MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he, He play'd a spring and danc'd it round, FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, O, what is death but parting breath? I've dar'd his face, and in this place Untie these bands from off my hands, And there's no a man in all Scotland, I've lived a life of sturt and strife; I die by treacherie : It burns my heart I must depart, Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, 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, 331 CHARLIE HE'S MY Robert Burns. DARLING An' Charlie he's my darling, 'TWAS on a Monday morning, As he was walking up the street O, there he spied a bonie lass Sae light's he jimpéd up the stair, An' wha sae ready as hersel He set his Jenny on his knee, For brawlie weel he ken'd the way It's up yon heathery mountain, An' down yon scroggy glen, An' Charlie he's my darling, O MARY, at thy window be- Could I the rich reward secure, Yestreen, when to the trembling string I sat, but neither heard nor saw : I sigh'd, and said amang them a':'Ye are na Mary Morison.' O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 333 Robert Burns. THE FAREWELL It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main. He turn'd him right and round about And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore. The sodger from the wars returns, Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, I think on him that's far awa, The lee-lang night, and weep. 334 Robert Burns. LUCY SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A Maid whom there were none to praise 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. |