I roam'd the braes of bonnie Doon,
The winding banks of Ayr,
Where flutters many a small bird gay,
Blooms many a flow'ret fair;
But dearer far to me the stem
That once was Calder's pride,
And blossoms now, the fairest flower,
Within the vale of Clyde.
Avaunt! thou life-repressing north!
Ye withering east winds too!
But come, thou all-reviving west,
Breathe soft thy genial dew;
Until at length, in peaceful age,
This lovely floweret shed
Its last green leaf upon my tomb,
Within the vale of Clyde.
The tither morn.
[Written by Burns to a Gaelic air, and contributed to the Museum. The second strain of the tune strongly resembles the second part of "Fee him, father, fee him."]
The tither morn,
When I forlorn,
Aneath an aik sat moaning,
I did na trow,
I'd see my Jo,
Beside me gin the gloaming.
But he sae trig,
Lap o'er the rig,
And dawtingly did cheer me.
When I, what reck,
Did least expec',
To see my lad so near me.
His bonnet he,
A thought ajee,
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me;
And I, I wat,
Wi' fainness grat,
While in his grips he press'd me.
Deil tak' the war!
I late and air,
Ha'e wish'd since Jock departed,
But now as glad
I'm wi' my lad,
As short syne broken-hearted.
Fu' aft at e'en
Wi' dancing keen,
When a' were blythe and merry,
I cared na by
Sae sad was I
In absence o' my dearie.
But, praise be blest,
My mind's at rest,
I'm happy wi' my Johnny;
At kirk and fair,
I'se aye be there,
And be as canty's ony.
Lanark Mills.
[Lewis.—Air, "Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff."]
Adieu! romantic banks of Clyde,
Where oft I've spent the joyful day,
Now, weary wand'ring on thy side,
I pour the plaintive, joyless lay.
To other lands I'm doom'd to rove,
The thought with grief my bosom fills,
Why am I forced to leave my love,
And wander far from Lanark Mills?
Can I forget th' extatic hours,
When ('scaped the village evening din)
I met my lass 'midst Braxfield bowers,
Or near the falls of Corhouse Linn?
While close I clasp'd her to my breast,
(Th' idea still with rapture thrills!)
I thought myself completely blest,
By all the lads of Lanark Mills.
Deceitful, dear, delusive dream,
Thou'rt fled—alas! I know not where,
Evanish'd is each blissful gleam,
And left behind a load of care.
Adieu! dear winding banks of Clyde,
A long farewell, ye rising hills;
No more I'll wander on your side,
Though still my heart's at Lanark Mills.
While Tintock stands the pride of hills,
While Clyde's dark stream rolls to the sea,
So long, my dear-loved Lanark Mills,
May heaven's best blessings smile on thee.
A last adieu! My Mary dear,
The briny tear my eye distills;
While reason's powers continue clear,
I'll think of thee, and Lanark Mills.
