I'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When summer days are lang—
When nature's heart is big wi' joy,
Her voice laden wi' sang—
When shepherds pipe on sunny braes,
And flocks roam at their will,
And auld an' young in cot an' ha',
O' pleasure drink their fill.
I'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When autumn's yellow fields—
That wave like seas o' gowd—before
The glancin' sickle yields;
When ilka bough is bent wi' fruit—
A glorious sight to see!—
And showers o' leaves, red, rustling, sweep
Out owre the withering lea.
I'll tend thy bower, my bonnie May,
When through the naked trees,
Cauld, shivering on the bare hill side,
Sweeps wild the frosty breeze;
When tempests roar, and billows rise,
Till nature quakes wi' fear—
And on the land and on the sea,
Wild winter rules the year.
Farewell, ye haunts of joy.
[Words by Miss Janet Ryland.—Here first printed.]
Farewell, ye haunts of joy, farewell
Ye scenes of love and glee,
Oh bonnie groves o' Rosemount dell,
Ye'll smile nae mair for me;
I'm dreary now, I'm left alane,
Without a hope to ca' my ain,
The jewel o' my heart is gane
Far, far ayont the sea.
The last fond look my laddie gave,
The parting words he said,
I'll bear in mind till in my grave
My weary head is laid;
It may be fancy cheats my heart,
And pains my head wi' wily art,
But ah, wi' life I'll sooner part
Than break the vows we made.
It's sair to think on friendship fled,
And live while hope decays;
It's sair to seek amang the dead
The love o' early days;
But wha can thole the dreary gloom
That fills a lover's living tomb?
Oh wha can bide the bitter doom
That seals my nameless waes?
Ye stars and winds and things that guide
The wand'rer to his rest,
Ye cheer wi' dreams o' joyous pride
The weary-laden breast;
But ah! for me there shines nae ray
O' balmy hope's returning day,—
The tear o' death alone will say
My heart is in the West.
Tarry woo.
[The words of this song occur in the third volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany. The tune is old: that of "Lewie Gordon" is borrowed from it. "Tarry woo," says Burns, "is a very pretty song; but I fancy that the first half stanza, as well as the tune itself, are much older than the rest of the words." Burns was probably right in his conjecture. There is a couplet in Sir John Clerk's song of the "Miller," given at page 178, borrowed from "Tarry woo:"—
"Who'd be a king?—a petty thing.
When a miller lives so happy."
This is very similar to the close of the last verse—
Who'd be a king? can ony tell,
When a shepherd sings so well?
It may interest many readers in the present song when they know that it was Sir Walter Scott's almost only one. His voice as a singer belonged to that large class of human voices denominated timber-toned; and when called on for a song at a convivial meeting, he generally gotoflf by striking up a verse of "Tarry woo."]
Tarry woo, tarry woo,
Tarry woo is ill to spin;
Card it weil, card it weil,
Card it weil, ere ye begin.
When its cardit, row'd, and spun,
Then the wark is haflins done;
But, when woven, dress'd, and clean,
It may be cleadin' for a queen.
