Last night I met him on a bauk,
Where yellow corn was growins;
There mony a kindly word he spake,
That set my heart a-glowing.
He kiss'd, and vow'd he wad be mine,
And lo'ed me best of ony;
That gars me like to sing sinsyne,
O corn-rigs are bonny.
Let maidens of a silly mind
Refuse what maist they're wanting;
Since we for yielding are design'd,
We chastely should be granting.
Then I'll comply and mairy Pate;
And syne my cockernony
He's free to touzle air or late,
When corn-rigs are bonny.
Rigs o' Barley.
[This was an early production of Burns's, written to the old tune of "Corn Rigs." Annie Ponald, afterwards Mrs. Paterson of Aikenbrae, is said to have been the inspirer of the song.]
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I hied away to Annie:
The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till, 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me through the barley.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly:
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain:
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace!
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars sae bright,
That shone that hour sae clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I ha'e been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I ha'e been merry drinking;
I ha'e been joyfu' gatherin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkin';
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Though three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
Wifie, come hame.
[James Ballantine.— From "The Gaberlunzie's Wallet," a beautifully illustrated work, published at Edinburgh, in which are interspersed many poetical pieces replete with genuine Scottish humour and pathos.]
Wifie, come hame,
My couthie wee dame;
O but ye're far awa',
Wifie, come hame.
Come wi' the young bloom o' morn on thy brow,
Come wi' the lowwn star o' love in thine e'e,
Come wi' the red cherries ripe on thy mou',
A' glist' wi' balm, like the dew on the lea;
Come wi' the gowd tassels fringing thy hair,
Come wi' thy rose cheeks a' dimpled wi' glee,
Come wi' thy wee step, and wifie-like air,
O quickly come, and shed blessings on me.
Wifie, come hame,
My couthie wee dame;
O my heart wearies sair,
Wifie, come hame.
Come wi' our love pledge, our dear little dawtie,
Clasping my neck round, an' clambering my knee;
Come let me nestle and press the wee pettie,
Gazing on ilka sweet feature o' thee:
O but the house is a cauld hame without ye,
Lanely and eerie's the life that I dree;
O come awa' an' I'll dance round about ye,
Ye'll ne'er again win frae my arms till I dee
