SHE. O Willy, aye I bless the grove Where first I owned my maiden love, Whilst thou didst pledge the powers above To be my ain dear Willy. HE. A's songsters of the early year SHE. As on the brier the budding rose So in my tender bosom grows The love I bear my Willy. HE. The milder sun and bluer sky, That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, SHE. The little swallow's wanton wing, As meeting o' my Willy. HE. The bee that through the sunny hour Sips nectar in the opening flower, Compared wi' my delight is poor, Upon the lips o' Philly. SHE. The woodbine in the dewy weet, When evening shades in silence meet, Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet As is a kiss o' Willy. HE. Let fortune's wheel at random rin, And fools may tyne, and knaves may win; My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, And that's my ain dear Philly. SHE. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie? And that's my ain dear Willy. Nov. 19, 1794. CONTENTED WP LITTLE. TUNE- Lumps o' Pudding. CONTENTED wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, merry slap pail-ale I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought, But man is a sodger, and life is a faught: fight My mirth and good-humour are coin in my pouch, my freedom's And dare touch. my lairdship nae monarch When at the blithe end of our journey at iast, Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; stumble totter Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae⚫ CANST thou leave me thus, my Katy? Is this thy plighted, fond regard, Thus cruelly to part, my Katy? Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear That fickle heart of thine, my Katy! Thou may'st find those will love thee dearBut not a love like mine, my Katy.1 Nov. 19, 1794. 1 This song is a poetical expression of the more gentle feeling Burns was now beginning to entertain towards Mrs. Rid del. Burns could not write verses on any woman without imagining her as a mistress, past, present, or potential. He accordingly treats the breach of friendship which had occurred between him and the fair hostess of Woodley Park, as a falling away on her part from constancy in the tender passion. It appears, moreover, that he sent the song to Mrs. Riddel, as a sort of olive-branch, and that she did not receive it in an unkindly spirit, though probably without forgetting that the bard had wounded her delicacy. She answered the song in the same strain, and sent her own piece to Burns, for it was found by Currie amongst his papers after his death. STAY, MY WILLIE, YET BELIEVE ME. Stay, my Willie-yet believe me; For, ah! thou know'st La' every pang Tell me that thou yet art true, And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven; And when this heart proves fause to thee, Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. But to think I was betrayed, That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder! To take the flow'ret to my breast, And find the guilefu' serpent under! Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive, I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres Stay, my Willie - yet believe me; Wad wring my bosom shouldst thou leave me |