But my loved song is then the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows;
For sure, so sweet, so soft a bloom,
Elsewhere there never grows.
There Colin tuned his oaten reed,
And won my yielding heart;
No shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed,
Could play with half such art.
He sung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde,
The hills and dales all round,
Of Leader-haughs, and Leader-side,
Oh! how I bless'd the sound.
Yet more delightful is the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows;
For sure, so fresh, so bright a bloom,
Elsewhere there never grows.
Not Tiviot braes, so green and gay,
May with this broom compare;
Not Yarrow banks in flowery May,
Nor the bush aboon Traquair.
More pleasing far are Cowdenknows,
My peaceful happy home,
Where I was wont to milk my ewes,
At e'en amang the broom.
Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains
Where Tweed and Tiviot flows,
Convey me to the best of swains,
And my loved Cowdenknows.
A red, red Rose.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Museum. Burns says, "The tune of this song is in Neil Gow's first collection, and is there called Major Graham." See the following song.]
O, my luve's like a red red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O, my luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
Sae deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Low down i' the Brume.
[The tune of "Low down in the Brume," or something very like it, is often given to the song above quoted, "A red, red Rose." The words of the present song are ascribed to James Carnegie, Esq. of Balnamoon, near Brechin. They can be traced as far back as to a collection published at Edinburgh in 1765, called "The Lark."]
My daddie is a cankert carle,
He'll no twine wi' his gear;
My minnie she's a scauldin' wife,
Hauds a' the house asteer.
But let them say, or let them do,
It's a' ane to me,
For he's low doun, he's in the brume,
That's waitin' on me:
Waiting on me, my love,
He's waiting on me:
For he's low doun, he's in the brume,
That's waitin' on me.
My auntie Kate sits at her wheel,
And sair she lightlies me;
But weel ken I it's a' envy,
For ne'er a joe has she.
But let them say, &c.
My cousin Kate was sair beguiled
Wi' Johnnie o' the Glen;
And aye sinsyne she cries, Beware
O' fause deluding men.
But let them say, &c.
Gleed Sandy he cam' wast yestreen,
And speir'd when I saw Pate;
And aye sinsyne the neebors round
They jeer me air and late.
But let them say, &c.
