chorus.
Then gang wi' me to Scotland dear;
We ne'er again will roam,
And with thy smiles so bonny, cheer
My native Highland home!
When summer comes, the heather bell
Shall tempt thy feet to rove,
The cushet dove with in the dell
Invite to peace and love!
For blythsome is the breath of May,
And sweet the bonny broom,
And blythe the dimpling rills that play
Around my Highland home!
Then gang wi' me, &c.
My Nannie, O.
[This is one of Burns's early songs—and one of his best. The heroine was a servant-girl at Calcothill, near Lochlea, by name Agnes Fleming. The air is very old.]
Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows,
'Mang moors and mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O.
The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal.
And o'er the hill to Nannie, O.
My Nannie's charming, sweet, and young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The opening gowan wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.
A country lad is my degree,
And few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be?
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O.
My riches a's my penny fee,
And I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.
Our auld gudeman delights to view
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his plough,
And has nae care but Nannie, O.
Come weel, come wae, I carena by,
I'll tak' what heaven will send me, O;
Nae ither care in life ha'e I,
But live and love my Nannie, O.
Mary of Castle-Cary.
[First published at Edinburgh, in May, 1791, in a periodical work, conducted by Dr. Anderson, entitled, "The Bee." The author is Hector Macneil. Tune, "Bonnie Dundee."]
O saw ye my wee thing? Saw ye my ain thing?
Saw ye my true love down on yon lea?
Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin'?
Sought she the burnie whar flow'rs the haw tree?
Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e;
Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses:—
Whar could my wee thing wander frae me?
I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing,
Nor saw I your true love down on yon lea;
But I met my bonnie thing late in the gloamin',
Down by the burnie whar flow'rs the haw tree.
Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milk-white;
Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e;
Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses:
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me.
It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true love ye met by the tree:
Proud is her leal heart! modest her nature!
She never lo'ed onie till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary:
Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee:—
Fair as your face is, war't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to thee.
It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-Cary;
It was then your true love I met by the tree;
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,
