The Book of Scottish Song/Farewell to Ayrshire
Farewell to Ayrshire.
[This is given in the last volume of Johnson's Museum, adapted to an air by Allan Masterton, as a production of Robert Burns. It was, however, in reality written by Richard Gall, and the following particulars regarding it are given by Mr. Starke, the intimate friend of Gall, in his sketch of the life of that young song-writer, printed in the Biographica Scotica, at Edinburgh, in 1805.—"One of Mr. Gall's songs, in particuiar, the original manuscript of which I have by me, has acquired a high degree of praise, from its having been printed among the works of Burns, and generally thought the production of that poet. The reverse, indeed, was only known to a few of Mr. Gall's friends, to whom he communicated the verses before they were published. The fame of Burns stands in no need of the aid of others to support it; and to render back the song in question to its true author, is but an act of distributive justice due alike to both these departed poets, whose ears are now equally insensible to the incense of flattery or the slanders of malevolence. At the time when the Scots Musical Museum was pubhshed at Edinburgh by Mr. Johnson, several of Burns's songs made their appearance in that publication. Mr. Gall wrote the following song, entitled, 'A Farewell to Ayrshire,' pretixed Burns's name to it, and sent it anonymously to the publisher of that work. From thence it has been copied into the later editions of the works of Burns. In publishing the song in this manner, Mr. Gall probably thought that it might, under the sanction of a name known to the world, acquire some notice; while, in other circumstances, its fate might have been 'to waste its sweetness in the desert air.'"]
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and tast adieu!
Bonnie Doon, sae sweet at gloamin',
Fare thee weel before I gang!
Bonnie Doon, whare, early roaming,
First I weaved the rustic sang!
Bowers, adieu! whare love decoying,
First enthrall'd this heart o' mine;
There the saftest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine.
Friends, sae near my bosom ever,
Ye ha'e render'd moments dear,
But, alas! whan forced to sever,
Then the stroke, oh! how severe.
Friends, that parting tear, reserve it,
Though 'tis doubly dear to me;
Could I think I did deserve it,
How much happier would I be!
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew,
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!