Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick 'ning green; The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar "Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene: The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, The-birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of wingèd day. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? 24 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow; Farewell to the straths1 and green valleys below; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. THE BANKS O' DOON Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, Thou minds me o' the happy days, Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon To see the woodbine twine, Wi' lightsome heart I pù'd a rose, AFTON WATER 8 16 The birth-place of valour, the country of Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy greer worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, Mary Campbell, who died in 1786; Burns's "Highland Mary." braes,3 Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace, O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, By your sons in servile chains! Your waters never drumlic! 2 For there I took the last fareweel How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, birch muddy We will drain our dearest veins, Lay the proud usurpers low! 8 Tyrants fall in every foe! CONTENTED WI' LITTLE AND CANTIE WI' MAIR 24 32 Contented wi' little, and cantie1 wi' mair, Whene'er I forgather2 wi' Sorrow and Care, 8 16 24 16 I gie them a skelp3 as they're creeping alang, Wi' a cog o' gude swats2 and an auld Scot- | Ye see yon birkie,1 ca'd a lord, A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT Is there,s for honest poverty, That hings his head, an' a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Our toils obscure, an' a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp; The man's the gowds for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,' For a' that, an' a' that, Their tinsel show, an' a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, His riband, star, an' a' that, A prince can mak a belted knight, Their dignities, an' a' that, Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that, 24 32 16 8 16 O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST O, wert thou in the cauld blast, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee. Or did misfortune's bitter storms Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom, To share it a', to share it a'. Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, The desert were a paralise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there. Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 1b THE ROMANTIC REVIVAL Wordsworth thought it worth while to print this "extract from the conclusion of a poem" which was written, at the age of sixteen. just before he left his school at Hawkshead. It both reveals his strong local attachment and anticipates his reliance upon what became for him a chief source of poetic inspiration, namely, "emotion recollected in tranquillity." She had a rustic, woodland air, "Sisters and brothers, little Maid, "How many? Seven in all,'' she said "And where are they? I pray you tell." "Two of us in the church-yard lie, "You say that two at Conway dwell, Then did the little Maid reply, "You run about, my little Maid, If two are in the church-yard laid, "Their graves are green, they may be seen," Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, "My stockings there I often knit, 66 'And often after sunset, Sir, This, and the two poems that follow it, were 40 48 |