Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleert and blin', Time and chance are but a tide, She may gae to - France for me! How it comes let doctors tell, Meg grew sick -as he grew heal; Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace; Maggie's was a piteous case; Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; A CLIV R. Burns THE SAILOR'S WIFE ND are ye sure the news is true? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jades, lay by your wheel; Is this the time to spin a thread, When Colin 's at the door? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house And gie to me my bigonet, For I maun tell the baillie's wife Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Its a' to please my ain gudeman, There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in 't If Colin's weel, and weel content, For there's nae luck about the house, There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman 's awa'. CLV W. J. Mickle JEAN F a' the airts the wind can blaw 1 dearly like the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best : There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between ; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair: I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft Ae smile o' her wad banish care, What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae pass'd atween us twa! How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa! The Powers aboon can only ken To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean! R. Burns J CLVI JOHN ANDERSON OHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, John Anderson my jo, John, And mony a canty day, John, Now we maun totter down, John, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo. R. Burns CLVII THE LAND O' THE LEAL I 'M wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task 's ended noo, Jean, To the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn 's there, Jean, O we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal! |