MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.
RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING.'
TUNE- M'GREGOR OF RUARA'S LAMENT."
RAVING winds around her blowing,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella stray'd deploring:
"Farewell, hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow.
"O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.
Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Load to misery most distressing,
O, how gladly I'd resign thee,
And to dark oblivion join thee!"
MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN.
TUNE-" DRUIMION DUBH."
MUSING on the roaring ocean
Which divides my love and me;
Wearying Heaven in warm devotion,
For his weel where'er he be.
Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubl'd, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me;
Downy sleep, the curtains draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
1 Miss Isabella M'Leod, who had lost a sister and a brother-in-law.
BLITHE, blithe and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben:
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.
By Ochtertyre grows the aik,
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie' was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Blithe, &c.
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She tripped by the banks of Ern,
As light 's a bird upon a thorn.
Blithe, &c.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As onie lamb's upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.
Blithe, &c.
The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blithe, &c.
PEGGY'S CHARMS.'
TUNE-"NEIL GOW'S LAMENTATION FOR ABERCAIRNT."
WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes.
As one who, by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.
Miss Euphemia Murray,
THE LAZY MIST, ETC.
Blest be the wild sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r!
The tyrant Death with grim control
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.
THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill,
Concealing the course of the dark-winding rill;
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear,
As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year!
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of Summer is flown:
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse,
How quick Time is flying, how keen fate pursues;
How long I have lived, but how much lived in vain;
How little of life's scanty span may remain :
What aspects, old Time, in his progress, has worn;
What ties, cruel Fate in my bosom has torn.
How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain'd!
And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how pain'd!
This life's not worth having with all it can give,
For something beyond it poor man sure must live.
A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.
TUNE-"THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE.
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany' fair,
On trembling string, or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning.
TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.'
TUNE "INVERCAULD'S REEL."
O TIBBIE, I hae seen the day,
Ye would na been sae shy;
For laik o' gear ye lightly' me,
But trowth, I care na by.
YestreenI met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure:
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
I doubt na, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,
That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
1 Miss Jeany Cruikshanks.
Burns was about seventeen years old when he composed these
I LOVE MY JEAN
But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows onie saucy quean
That looks sae proud and high.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'll cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
But if he hae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear
Be better than the kye.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,
Your daddy's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price
Were ye as poor as I.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
There lives a lass in yonder park,
I would na gie her in her sark,
For thee wi' a' thy thousand mark;
Ye need na look sae high.
O Tibbie, I hae, &c.
TUNE "MISS ADMIRAL GORDON'S STRATHSPEY.'
OF a' the airts2 the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best;
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,
And monie a hill between;
By day and night my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
Written "out of compliment to Mrs. Burns." 2 Points of the compass.
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