COME DOWN THE BACK STAIRS.

Tune-"Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad.”

[The air of this song was composed by John Bruce, a Dumfries fiddler. Burns gave another and happier version to the work of Thomson: this was written for the Museum of Johnson, where it was first published.]

CHORUS.

O whistle, and I'll come

To you, my lad;

O whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad:

Tho' father and mither

Should baith gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come
To you, my lad.

COME down the back stairs

When ye come to court me;
Come down the back stairs

When ye come to court me;
Come down the back stairs,
And let naebody see,
And come as ye were na
Coming to me.

I AM MY MAMMY'S AE BAIRN.

Tune-"I'm o'er young to marry yet."

[The title, and part of the chorus only of this song are old; the rest is by Burns, and was written for Johnson.]

I AM my mammy's ae bairn,

Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir;

And lying in a man's bed,

I'm fley'd it mak me eerie, Sir.

I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young-'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet.

Hollowmas is come and gane,

The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
And
you an' I in ae bed,

In trouth, I dare na venture, Sir.

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind,
Blaws through the leafless timmer, Sir;

But, if ye come this gate again,

I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.
I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young to marry yet;
I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammy yet.

BONNIE LASSIE, WILL YE GO.

Tune-" The Birks of Aberfeldy."

[An old strain, called "The Birks of Abergeldie," was the forerunner of this sweet song: It was written, the poet says, standing under the Falls of Alberfeldy, near Moness, in Perthshire, during one of the tours which he made to the north, in the year 1787.]

CHORUS.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy?

Now simmer blinks on flowery braes,
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays;
Come, let us spend the lightsome days
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The little birdies blithely sing,

While o'er their heads the hazels hing,

Or lightly flit on wanton wing

In the birks of Aberfeldy.

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's,
The foamy stream deep-roaring fa's,
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws,
The birks of Aberfeldy.

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flowers,
White o'er the linns the burnie pours,
And rising, weets wi' misty showers
The birks of Aberfeldy.

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee,
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae me,
Supremely blest wi' love and thee,
In the birks of Aberfeldy.

Bonnie lassie, will ye go,

Will ye go, will ye go;

Bonnie lassie, will ye go

To the birks of Aberfeldy?

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.

Tune-"M'Pherson's Rant."

[This vehement and daring song had its origin in an older and inferior strain, record Ing the feelings of a noted freebooter when brought to "justify his deeds on the gallows tree" at Inverness.]

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,

The wretch's destinie!

Macpherson's time will not be long

On yonder gallows-tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

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

Oh, what is death but parting breath?

On many 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 avenged 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.

BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER.

Tune-"Galla Water."

[Burns found this song in the collection of Herd; added the first verse, made other but not material emendations, and published it in Johnson: in 1793 he wrote another version for Thomson.]

CHORUS.

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;

O braw lads of Galla Water:
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,
And follow my love thro' the water.

SAE fair her hair, sae brent her brow,
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie;
Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',
The mair I kiss she's ay my
dearie.

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,
O'er yon moss amang the heather;
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,

And follow my love thro' the water.

Down amang the broom, the broom,
Down amang the broom, my dearie,
The lassie lost a silken snood,

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;

O braw lads of Galla Water:
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,
And follow my love thro' the water.

STAY, MY CHARMER.

Tune-"An Gille dubh ciar dhubh."

[The air of this song was picked up by the poet in one of his northern tours: his High land excursions coloured many of his lyric compositions.]

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me?
Cruel, cruel, to deceive me!

Well you know how much you grieve me;
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?

By my love so ill requited;
By the faith you fondly plighted;
By the pangs of lovers slighted:
Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!

THICKEST NIGHT, O'ERHANG MY DWELLING.

Tune-"Strathallan's Lament."

[The Viscount Strathallan, whom this song commemorates, was William Drummond: he was slain at the carnage of Culloden. It was long believed that he escaped to France and died in exile.]

THICKEST night, o'erhang my dwelling!

Howling tempests, o'er me rave!

Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,

Roaring by my lonely cave!

Crystal streamlets gently flowing,

Busy haunts of base mankind,