Be Britain still to Britain true, For never but by British hands The kettle o' the kirk and state, Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought, The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, Who will not sing, "God save the King," ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. Tune-"Where'll bonnie Ann lie." [The old song to the same air is yet remembered: but the humour is richer than the delicacy; the same may be said of many of the fine hearty lyrics of the elder days of Caleloria. These verses were composed in May, 1795, for Thomson.] O STAY, Sweet warbling wood-lark, stay! Again, again that tender part, Say, was thy little mate unkind, Sic notes o' woe could wauken. Thou tells o' never-ending care; ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. Tune-"Ay wakin' O." [An old and once popular lyric suggested this brief and happy song for Thomson: some of the verses deserve to be held in remembrance. Ay waking, oh, Waking ay and weary Sleep I canna get For thinking o' my dearie.] LONG, long the night, Heavy comes the morrow, Is on her bed of sorrow. Can I cease to care? Can I cease to languish? While my darling fair Is on the couch of anguish? Every hope is fled, Every fear is terror; Every dream is horror. Hear me, Pow'rs divine! Heavy comes the morrow, CALEDONIA. Tune-"Humours of Glen." [Love of country often mingles in the lyric strains of Burns with his personal attachments, and in few more beautifully than in the following, written for Thomson: the heroine was Mrs. Burns.] THEIR groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, "TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE EEN. Tune-"Laddie, lie near me." [Though the lady who inspired these verses is called Mary by the poet, such, says tradition, was not her name: yet tradition, even in this, wavers, when it avers one while that Mrs Riddel, and at another time that Jean Lorimer was the heroine.] 'TWAS na her bonnie blue een was my ruin; Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing: Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me! But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever, Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest! HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. Tune-"John Anderson, my jo." ["I am at this moment," says Burns to Thomson, when he sent him this song, "hoid ing high converse with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on a prosaic dog such as you are." Yet there is less than the poet's usual inspiration in this lyric, for it is altered from an English one.] How cruel are the parents Who riches only prize, Poor woman sacrifice! The ravening hawk pursuing, To shun impelling ruin No shelter or retreat, And drops beneath his feet! MARK YONDER POMP. Tune-"Deil tak the wars." [Burns tells Thomson, in the letter enclosing this song, that he is in a high fit of poetizing, provided he is not cured by the strait-waistcoat of criticism. "You see," said he, "how I answer your orders; your tailor could not be more punctual." This strain in honour of Chloris is original in conception, but wants the fine lyrical flow of some of his other compositions.] MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion What are the noisy pleasures? The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art: And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart. But, did you see my dearest Chloris In simplicity's array; Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, O then the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul! The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity, And feel thro' every vein Love's raptures roll. |