I love my Pegery's angel air,
Her face so truly heav'nly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.
The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway!
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The gen'rous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarms—
These are all immortal charms.
Strathallan’s Lament.
[This Lament, written by Burns for Johnson's Museum, is supposed to express the feelings of James Drummond, Viscount of Strathallan, who escaped to France after the battle of Culloden, where his father was slain. "The air," says Burns, "is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living—Allan Masterton, school-master in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. To tell the matter of fact, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my jacobitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle."]
Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling!
Howling tempests, o'er me rave!
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling,
Still surround my lonely cave!
Crystal streamlets, gently flowing,
Busy haunts of base mankind,
Western breezes, softly blowing,
Suit not my distracted mind.
In the cause of right engaged,
Wrongs injurious to redress,
Honour's war we strongly waged,
But the heavens denied success.
Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope that dare attend,
The wide world is all before us—
But a world without a friend!
Beware o' bonnie Ann.
[Written by Burns in 1788 for Johnson's Museum, in compliment to Ann Masterton, (afterwards Mrs. Derbishire, London,) daughter of the poet's friend, Allan Masterton, who composed the tune. Masterton was a teacher of writing and arithmetic in Edinburgh, who possessed a great taste for music, which he cultivated as an amateur on the violin. He was composer of several other tunes for Burns's words, and, among the rest, of the tune to "Willie brew'd a peck o' maut." In the latter song he also figures as one of the heroes.]
Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right,
Beware o' bonnie Ann;
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace,
Your heart she will trepan.
Her een sae bright, like stars by night,
Her skin is like the swan;
Sae jimply laced, her genty waist,
That sweetly ye might span.
Youth, grace, and love, attendant move,
And pleasure leads the van;
In a' their charms, and conquering arms,
They wait on bonnie Ann.
The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;
Ye gallants braw, I rede ye a',
Beware o' bonnie Ann.
O Cherub Content.
[The following is an early production of Thomas Campbell, author of the "Pleasures of Hope," but is not included in any collected edition of his works that we know of. It is adapted to the Irish air called "Coolun."]
O Cherub Content! at thy moss-cover'd shrine,
I would all the gay hopes of my bosom resign,—
I would part with ambition thy votary to be,
And breathe not a vow but to friendship and thee.
But thy presence appears from my pursuit to fly,
Like the gold-colour'd cloud on the verge of the sky;
No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree
Is so short as the smile of thy favour to me.
