Kirk wad let me be.
["This ancient ditty," says Mr. Chambers, "is said to have been composed, under very peculiar circumstances, by a non-conforming clergyman of the time of Charles II. While under hiding for religion's sake, he had the misfortune to be seized by a party of the troops which were then employed to scour the south and west of Scotland in search of the broken Covenanters. They were not exactly sure of his person, for he appeared to their eyes more like a beggar than any thing else; but, from some suspicious circumstances, they were disposed, at least, to detain him till they should ascertain his real character. The unhappy man then condescended to an artifice, for the purpose of extricating himself. He forthwith assumed a fantastic levity of manners—fell a-capering and dancing—and, finally, sung the two following stanzas, which he composed on the spur of the moment. Such was the gloss he thus gave to his character, and so much were the soldiers delighted with his song, that, swearing he was an honest fellow, and could not possibly belong to the crew they were in search of, they permitted him to depart. The song appeared in Herd's Collection, 1776."]
I am a puir silly auld man,
And hirplin' ower a tree;
Yet fain, fain kiss wad I,
Gin the kirk wad let me be.
Gin a' my duds were aff,
And guid haill claes put on,
O, I could kiss a young lass
As weel as ony man.
The Winter of Life.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Museum to a plaintive East Indian air.]
But lately seen in gladsome green,
The woods rejoiced the day,
Through gentle showers, the laughing flowers
In double pride were gay:
But now our joys are fled
On winter's blast awa'!
Yet maiden May, in rich array,
Again shall bring them a'.
But my white pow nae kindly thowe
Shall melt the snaws of age;
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild,
Sinks in time's wintry rage.
Oh, age has weary days,
And nights o' sleepless pain!
Thou golden time o' youthful prime,
Why com'st thou not again?
Bess and her Wheel.
[This song of humble industry and contentment was written by Burns for Johnson's Museum, to a fine air composed by Oswald, and called "Sweet 's the lass that lo'es me." In some collections we see the tune affixed to the song called "The Bottom of the Punchbowl."]
O Leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
O leeze me on my rock and reel!
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,
And haps me feil and warm at e'en!
I'll set me doun, and sing, and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun;
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal—
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest;
The sun blinks kindly in the biel,
Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhite in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays:
The craik among the clover hay,
The paitrick whirring ower the lea,
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel:
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.
