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My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back;
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee?
Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ?
My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak;
But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to

break :
They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea ;
Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.
I hadna been a wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door,
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he-
Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee.
O sair, sair did we greet, and suckle did we say;
We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away :
I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ;
And why was I born to say, Wae's me!
I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ;
I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin;
But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be,
For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me.

Lady A. Lindsay

CLIII

DUNCAN GRAY
Duncan Gray cam here to woo,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't,
On blythe Yule night when we were fou,

Ha, ha, the wooing o't:
Maggie coost her head fu' high,
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;

Ha, ha, the wooing o't !
Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd ;
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ;
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in,

Grat his een baith bleert and blin',
Spak o' lowpin' ower a linn!
Time and chance are but a tide,
Slighted love is sair to bide ;
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he,
For a haughty hizzie dee?
She may gae to-France for me !
How it comes let doctors tell,
Meg grew sick-as he grew heal ;
Something in her bosom wrings,
For relief a sigh she brings ;
And O, her een, they spak sic things !
Duncan was a lad o' grace ;
Maggie's was a piteous case ;
Duncan could na be her death,
Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath ;
Now they're crouse and canty baith :
Ha, ha, the wooing o't!

R. Burns

CLIV

THE SAILOR'S WIFE
And are ye sure the news is true ?

And are ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to think o' wark ?

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ;
Is this the time to spin a thread,

When Colin's at the door ? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay,

And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudeman's awa'.
And gie to me my bigonet,

My bishop's satin gown ;

For I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,

My stockins pearly blue ;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside,

Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her button gown

And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,

Their hose as white as snaw; Its a' to please my ain gudeman,

For he's been long awa.

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair;
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,

That Colin weel may fare ;
And spread the table neat and clean,

Gar ilka thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa ?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair--
And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet !

If Colin's weel, and weel content,

I hae nae mair to crave :
And gin I live to keep him sae,

I'm blest aboon the lave :
And will I see his face again,

And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet.

For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.

W. J. Mickle

CLV

JEAN
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

I dearly like the West,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :
There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;
But day and night my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair :
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air :
There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonnie bird that sings

But minds me o' my Jean.
O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft

Amang the leafy trees;
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale

Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me

That's aye sae neat and clean; Ae smile o her wad banish care,

Sae charming is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes

Hae pass'd atween us twa !
How fond to meet, how wae to part

That night she gaed awa !
The Powers aboon can only ken

To whom the heart is seen,

That nane can be sae dear to me
As my sweet lovely Jean !

R. Burns

CLVI

JOHN ANDERSON
John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither,
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither :
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

R. Burns

CLVII

THE LAND O' THE LEAL
I'm wearing awa', Jean,
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean,
I'm wearing awa'

To the land o' the leal.
There's nae sorrow there, Jean,
There's neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day is aye

fair
In the land o' the leal.
Ye were aye leal and true, Jean,
Your task's ended noo, Jean,

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