The Book of Scottish Song/O gin my love
O gin my love.
I.
[From Herd's MS. Printed in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."]
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel' a drap of dew,
Down on that red rose I would fa'.
O my love's bonnie, honnie, bonnie;
My love's bonnie and fair to see:
Whene'er I look on her weel-far'd face,
She looks and smiles again to me.
O gin my love were a pickle of wheat,
And growing upon yon lily lee,
And I mysel' a bonnie wee bird,
Awa' wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee.
O my love's bonnie, &c.
O gin my love were a coffer o' gowd,
And I the keeper of the key,
I wad open the kist whene'er I list,
And in that coffer I wad be.
O my love's bonnie, &c.
II.
[Burns found the first verse of the above song in Witherspoon's collection, coupled to another verse comparatively modern, and was so much struck with their beauty that he added two verses to them, for Thomson's collection. His own verses in the present set stand first in the song, with the view, as he modestly says, of husbanding the "best thoughts for a concluding stroke." The song has been set to different tunes—to "Hughie Graham," to "Lord Balgonie's favourite," &c., but it possesses also an old air of its own. There have been several extensions of the song by other hands.]
O were my love yon lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing.
How I wad mourn when it was torn,
By autumn wild, and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel' a drap o' dew,
Into her bonnie breast to fa'!
O! there beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa' by Phœbus' light.