My Father was a Farmer upon the Carrick border, O,
And carefully he bred me in decency and order, O;
He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O,
For without an honest manly heart, no man was worth regarding, O.
Then out into the world my course I did determine, O;
Tho' to be rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O:
My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education, O;
Resolv'd was I, at least to try, to mend my situation, O.
In many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O:
Some cause unseen still stept between to frustrate each endeavour, O;
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd, sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the top, I still was worst mistaken, O.
Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O,
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion, O—
The past was bad, and the future hid; its good or ill untrièd, O;
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, O.
No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend me, O;
So I must toil, and sweat and broil, and labour to sustain me, O;
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O;
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.
Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro' life I'm doom'd to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O;
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O,
I live to-day as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a palace, O.
Tho' Fortune's frown still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O;
I make indeed my daily bread, but ne'er can make it farther, O;
But, as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.
When sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me, O—
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, O;
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, O.
All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O;
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O.
The stress laid upon that part of Burns's production which has relation, near or remote, to his personal experiences with women is, in the current estimate, somewhat disproportionate. A surprisingly large number of his most effective songs are purely dramatic, are placed in the mouth of a man who is clearly not the poet, or, more frequently, in the mouth of a woman. There is little evidence that Burns would have been capable of sustained dramatic composition; on the other hand, he was far from being limited to purely personal lyric utterance. His versatility in giving expression to the amorous moods of the other sex is almost as great as in direct confession. A group of these dramatic lyrics will demonstrate this.
O FOR ANE AN' TWENTY, TAM!
An' O for ane an' twenty, Tam!
An' hey, sweet are an' twenty, Tam!
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, teach
An' I saw ane an' twenty, Tam. If
They snool me sair, and haud me down, snub, sorely, hold
An' gar me look like bluntie, Tam! make, a fool
But three short years will soon wheel roun',
An' then comes ane an' twenty, Tam.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o' gear, portion, handful of money
Was left me by my auntie, Tam;
At kith or kin I need na spier, ask
An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, have, dolt
Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou, laddie? there's my loof, hand
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
YE BANKS AND BRAES
(Second Version)
Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days, remindest
When my fause luve was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And sae did I o' mine.
(Third Version)
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care?
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn;
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover staw my rose, stole
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME
Simmer's a pleasant time,
Flow'rs of ev'ry colour;
The water rins o'er the heugh, crag
And I long for my true lover.
When I sleep I dream,
When I wauk I'm eerie; superstitiously afraid
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my dearie.
Lanely night comes on,
A' the lave are sleeping; rest
I think on my bonnie lad
And I bleer my een with greetin'. eyes, weeping
WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YE, MY LAD
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad:
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad,
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me, take care
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee; gate, ajar
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, then
And come as ye were na comin' to me.
And come as ye were na comin' to me.
At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flee: go, fly
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, glance
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me.
TAM GLEN
My heart is a breaking, dear tittie, sister
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity;
But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, fine
In poortith I might mak a fen'; poverty, shift
What care I in riches to wallow,
If I maunna marry Tam Glen? must not
There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
‘Guid-day to you’—brute! he comes ben:
He brags and he blaws o' his siller, money
But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
My minnie does constantly deave me, mother, deafen
And bids me beware o' young men;
They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, if
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten: hundred
But, if it's ordain'd I maun take him,
O wha will I get but Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, Last night
My heart to my mou gied a sten: mouth gave a leap
For thrice I drew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written, ‘Tam Glen.’
The last Halloween I was waukin' watching
His likeness cam up the house stalkin'—
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen! trousers
Come, counsel, dear tittle, don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, give
Gif ye will advise me to marry If
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. love
THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T
O wha my babie-clouts will buy? baby-clothes
Wha will tent me when I cry? care for
Wha will kiss me whare I lie?—
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. of it
Wha will own he did the faut? fault
Wha will buy my groanin' maut? ale for the midwife
Wha will tell me how to ca't? name it
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
When I mount the creepie-chair. stool of repentance
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,—Give
The rantin' dog the daddie o't.
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, fine
And sair wi' his love he did deave me: sorely, deafen
I said there was naething I hated like men—
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, go with him
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me.
He spak o' the darts in my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was dying;
I said he might die when he liked for Jean:
The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying.
The Lord forgie me for lying!
A weel-stockèd mailen, himsel' for the laird, farm
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers:
I never loot on that I kend it, or car'd; admitted
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, worse
But thought I might hae waur offers.
But what wad ye think? In a fortnight or less,
The deil tak his taste to gae near her! devil
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, lane
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her, could bear her,
Guess ye how, the jad! I could bear her.
But a' the niest week as I petted wi' care, next, fretted
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock; fair
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there?
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, stared, wizard
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock.
But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink, shoulder, gave, glance
Lest neebors might say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.
I spier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, asked, kindly
Gin she had recover'd her hearin', If
And how her new shoon fit her auld shachl't feet—shoes, ill-shaped
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin', a swearin'.
But, heavens! how he fell a swearin'.
He begged for gudesake I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow:
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,
I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, must
I think I maun wed him to-morrow.
FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY
My heart is sair, I dare na tell, sore
My heart is sair for somebody;
I could wake a winter night,
For the sake o' somebody!
Oh-hon! for somebody!
Oh-hey! for somebody!
I could range the world around,
For the sake o' somebody.
OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, O!
Oh, open the door, some pity to shew,
Oh, open the door to me, O!
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true,
Oh, open the door to me, O!
Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek,
But caulder thy love for me, O!
The frost, that freezes the life at my heart,
Is nought to my pains frae thee, O!
The wan moon is setting behind the white wave,
And time is setting with me, O!
False friends, false love, farewell! for mair
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, O!
She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide;
She sees his pale corse on the plain, O!
‘My true love!’ she cried, and sank down by his side,
Never to rise again, O!
WANDERING WILLIE
Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, away
Here awa, there awa, haud awa hame; hold
Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, one
Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same.
Loud tho' the winter blew cauld at our parting,
'Twas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e;
Welcome now, Simmer, and welcome, my Willie,
The Simmer to Nature, my Willie to me!
Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave o' your slumbers;
How your dread howling a lover alarms!
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows, Awake
And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. once more
But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nannie,
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main;
May I never see it, may I never trow it,
But, dying, believe that my Willie's my ain! own
HOW LANG AND DREARY
How lang and dreary is the night.
When I am frae my dearie!
I restless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er sae weary.
For O, her lanely nights are lang;
And O, her dreams are eerie; fearful
And O, her widow'd heart is sair, sore
That's absent frae her dearie.
When I think on the lightsome days
I spent wi' thee, my dearie,
And now that seas between us roar,
How can I be but eerie!
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours;
The joyless day how drearie!
It wasna sae ye glinted by, glanced
When I was wi' my dearie.
THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA
O how can I be blithe and glad,
Or how can I gang brisk and braw, go, fine
When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best
Is o'er the hills and far awa?
It's no the frosty winter wind,
It's no the driving drift and snaw;
But aye the tear comes in my e'e,
To think on him that's far awa.
My father pat me frae his door, put
My friends they hae disown'd me a':
But I hae ane will tak my part, have one
The bonnie lad that's far awa.
A pair o' gloves he bought to me,
And silken snoods he gae me twa; fillets, gave
And I will wear them for his sake,
The bonnie lad that's far awa.
BRAW BRAW LADS
Braw braw lads on Yarrow braes, hills
That wander thro' the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws woods
Can match the lads o' Gala Water.
But there is ane, a secret ane,
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; love
And I'll be his, and he'll be mine,
The bonnie lad o' Gala Water.
Altho' his daddie was nae laird, landlord
And tho' I hae nae meikle tocher, much dowry
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water. watch
It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth,
That coft contentment, peace, and pleasure; bought
The bands and bliss o' mutual love,
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure!
MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Farewell to the mountains, high cover'd with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
The foregoing are all placed in the mouths of girls, and it is difficult to deny that they ring as true as the songs that are known to have sprung from the poet's direct experience. Scarcely less notable than their sincerity is their variety. Pathos of desertion, gay defiance of opposition, yearning in absence, confession of coquetry, joyous confession of affection returned—these are only a few of the phases of woman's love rendered here with a felicity that leaves nothing to be desired. What woman has so interpreted the feelings of her sex?
The next two express a girl's repugnance at the thought of marriage with an old man; and the two following form a pair treating the same theme, one from the girl's point of view, the other from the lover's. The later verses of My Love She's but a Lassie Yet, however, though full of vivacity, have so little to do with the first or with one another that the song seems to be a collection of scraps held together by a common melody.
WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE
What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie,
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man?
Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnie mother
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan'! money
He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
He boasts and he hirples the weary day lang: coughs, limps
He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, stupid, benumbed
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers,
I never can please him do a' that I can;
He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows:
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man! woe
My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan:
I'll cross him and rack him, until I heart-break him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.
TO DAUNTON ME
The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
But an auld man shall never daunton me. tame
To daunton me, and me sae young,
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring tongue, false
That is the thing you ne'er shall see;
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
For a' his meal and a' his maut, malt
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, salt
For a' his gold and white monie,
An auld man shall never daunton me.
His gear may buy him kye and yowes, wealth, cows, ewes
His gear may buy him glens and knowes; knolls
But me he shall not buy nor fee, hire
For an auld man shall never daunton me.
He hirples twa fauld as he dow, limps double, can
Wi' his teethless gab and his auld beld pow, mouth, bald head
And the rain rains down frae his red bleer'd e'e—
That auld man shall never daunton me.
I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET
I am my mammie's ae bairn, only child
Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir; strange
And lying in a man's bed,
I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir. frightened, scared
I'm owre young, I'm owre young, too
I'm owre young to marry yet;
I'm owre young, 'twad be a sin
To tak me frae my mammie yet.
[My mammie coft me a new gown, bought
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't; must
Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir,
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't.]
Hallowmas is come and gane,
The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
And you an' I in ae bed,
In troth I dare na venture, Sir.
Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind
Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir; timber
But if ye come this gate again, way
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir. older, by
MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET
My love she's but a lassie yet;
My love she's but a lassie yet;
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, O,
I rue the day I sought her, O;
Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought her, O!
Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will, Go
But here I never miss'd it yet.
Bessy and Her Spinnin'-Wheel stands by itself as the rendering of the mood of contented solitude, and is further remarkable for its charming verses of natural description. John Anderson My Jo is the classical expression of love in age, inimitable in its simplicity and tenderness. The two following poems supply a humorous contrast.
BESSY AND HER SPINNIN'-WHEEL
O leeze me on my spinnin'-wheel, Blessings on
O leeze me on my rock and reel; distaff
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, top to toe, clothes, comfortably
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en! wraps, well
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun, low
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal—
O leeze me on my spinnin'-wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot, every, brooklets
And meet below my theekit cot; thatched
The scented birk and hawthorn white birch
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest: cool
The sun blinks kindly in the biel', shelter
Where blythe I turn my spinnin'-wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail, oaks, pigeons
And Echo cons the doolfu' tale; repeats, doleful
The lintwhites in the hazel braes, linnets
Delighted, rival ither's lays:
The craik amang the claver hay, corn-crake, clover
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley. partridge, meadow
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel, dodging, cot
Amuse me at my spinnin'-wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy, Above
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, noisy
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinnin'-wheel?
JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO
John Andersen my jo, John, sweetheart
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent; straight
But now your brow is beld, John, bald
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow, head
John Anderson, my jo.
THE WEARY PUND O' TOW
The weary pund, the weary pund, pound
The weary pund o' tow; yarn
I think my wife will end her life
Before she spin her tow.
I bought my wife a stane o' lint stone, flax
As gude as e'er did grow; good
And a' that she has made o' that,
Is ae poor pund o' tow. one
There sat a bottle in a bole, niche
Beyond the ingle lowe, chimney flame
And aye she took the tither souk other suck
To drouk the stowrie tow. drench, dusty
Quoth I, ‘For shame, ye dirty dame,
Gae spin your tap o' tow!’ bunch
She took the rock, and wi' a knock distaff
She brak it o'er my pow. pate
At last her feet—I sang to see't—
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe; went, hill
And or I wad anither jad, ere, wed
I'll wallop in a tow. kick, rope
O MERRY HAE I BEEN
O, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, huckling-comb
An' merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
O, merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle, patching
An' kissin' my Katie when a' was done,
O, a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, knock with
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
O, a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer, mistress
An' a' the lang night am as happy's a king.
Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins sorrow, earnings
O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave:
Bless'd be the hour she cool'd in her linens, shroud
And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave.
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,
An' come to my arms, an' kiss me again!
Drucken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!
And bless'd be the day I did it again.
Had I the Wyte is, we may hope, also purely imaginative drama; it is certainly vividly imagined and carried through with a delightful mixture of sympathy and humorous detachment.
HAD I THE WYTE?
Had I the wyte, had I the wyte, blame
Had I the wyte? she bade me!
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side, highroad
And up the loan she shaw'd me; lane
A coward loon she ca'd me: rascal
Had kirk and state been in the gate, way (opposing)
I lighted when she bade me.
Sae craftilie she took me ben, in
And bade me make nae clatter;
‘For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman surly
Is o'er ayont the water;’ beyond
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace,
When I did kiss and daut her, pet
Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say I was the fautor. Then, transgressor
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refused her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her?
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame, wool-comb
And blae and bluidy bruised her; blue
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but had excused her?
I dighted ay her een sae blue, wiped, eyes
And bann'd the cruel randy; cursed, scoundrel
And weel I wat her willing mou' wot, mouth
Was e'en like sugar-candy.
At gloamin-shot it was, I trow, sunset
I lighted, on the Monday;
But I cam through the Tysday's dew, Tuesday's
To wanton Willie's brandy.
Macpherson's Farewell, made famous by Carlyle's appreciation, is a glorified version of the “Dying Words” of a condemned bandit, such as were familiar in broadsides after every notorious execution. Part of the refrain is old. One may imagine The Highland Balou the lullaby of Macpherson's child.
MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL
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, jovially
Sae dauntingly gaed he;
He played a spring and danced it round, lively tune
Below the gallows tree.
Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On mony a bloody plain
I've dared his face, and in his 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; trouble
I die by treacherie:
It burns my heart I must depart
And not avengèd be.