For why should I stand haverin' here,
Like pulin' hopeless swain,
When ilka blush, and sigh, and tear,
Declares ye a' my ain!
Matrimonial Happiness.
["This song," says Burns, "was the work of a very worthy, facetious old fellow, John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk; which little property he was obliged to sell, in consequence of some connection, as security, for some persons concerned in that villanous bubble, The Ayr Bank. He has often told me that he composed this song one day when his wife had been fretting o'er their misfortunes." It will be recollected, that Burns, hearing the song sung at a "country rocking," was so much taken with it that he addressed a rhyming epistle to Lapraik, which opened up a correspondence between them. The poet says,
"There was ae sang amang the rest,
Aboon them a' it pleased me best,
That some kind husband had addrest
To some sweet wife:
It thrill'd the heart-strings thro' the breast,
A' to the life."
Lapraik was greatly the senior of Burns, having been born in 1727, yet he long survived him, as he died at Muirkirk, where he latterly kept the village post office, in 1807. In 1788, he published at Kilmarnock a volume of poems, but none of them surpassed, if they equalled, the song which drew forth the generous praise of Burns.—Tune, "The Scots Recluse," or "Johnnie's Grey Breeks."]
When I upon thy bosom lean,
And fondly clasp thee a' my ain,
I glory in the sacred ties
That made us ane, wha ance were twain.
A mutual flame inspires us baith,
The tender look, the meltin' kiss:
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love,
But only gi'e us change o' bliss.
Ha'e I a' wish? it's a' for thee!
I ken thy wish is me to please.
Our moments pass sae smooth away,
That numbers on us look and gaze;
Weel pleased they see our happy days,
Nor envy's sel' finds aught to blame;
And aye, when weary cares arise,
Thy bosom still shall be my hame.
I'll lay me there and tak' my rest:
And, if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,
And beg her not to drop a tear.
Ha'e I a joy? it's a' her ain!
United still her heart and mine;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,
That's twined till death shall them disjoin.
Johnnie and Mary.
[This was introduced as a Scotch song in Bickerstaff's opera of "Love in a Village," first acted at Covent Garden Theatre in 1762.]
Down the burn and through the mead,
His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow;
Johnnie lilting, tun'd his reed,
And Mary wip'd her bonnie mou':
Dear she loo'd the well known song.
While her Johnnie, blythe and bonnie,
Sung her praise the whole day long.
Down the burn and through the mead,
His golden locks wav'd o'er his brow,
Johnnie lilting, tun'd his reed,
And Mary wip'd her bonnie mou'.
Costly claiths she had but few;
Of rings and jewels nae great store;
Her face was fair, her love was true,
And Johnnie wisely wish'd nae more:
Love's the pearl the shepherds prize;
O'er the mountain, near the fountain,
Love delights the shepherd's eyes.
Down the burn, &c.
Gold and titles give not health,
And Johnnie could nae these impart;
Youthfu' Mary's greatest wealth,
Was still her faithfu' Johnnie's heart:
Sweet the joys the lovers find,
Great the treasure, sweet the pleasure,
Where the heart is always kind.
Down the burn, &c.
