No longer can my heart conceal
The painful pleasing flame I feel,
My soul retorts the am'rous strain,
And echoes back in love again;
Where lurks my songster? from what grove
Does Colin pour his notes of love?
O bring me to the happy bow'r,
Where mutual love may bliss secure.
Ye vocal hills that catch the song,
Repeating, as it flies along,
To Colin's ear my strain convey,
And say, I haste to come away.
Ye zephyrs soft that fan the gale,
Waft to my love the soothing tale;
In whispers all my soul express,
And tell, I haste his arms to bless.
II.
[Written by Richard Hewit, who, when very young, was engaged by the blind poet, Dr. Blacklock, as his guide and amanuensis. Hewit subsequently became secretary to Lord Milton, and died in 1794. He was a native of Cumberland.]
'Twas in that season of the year,
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.
Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung:
The hills and dales with Nannie rung:
While Roslin Castle heard the swain,
And echoed back his cheerful strain.
Awake, sweet muse! The breathing spring
With rapture warms: awake, and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
And hail the morning with a song:
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay;
O, bid her haste and come away
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!
O look, my love! on every spray
A feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng,
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let the raptured notes arise:
For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes;
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with, sweet alarms.
Oh, come, my love! Thy Colin's lay
With rapture calls: O, come away!
Come, while the muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.
O! hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravish'd heart of mine!
The gloomy night.
[Written by Burns to the tune of "Roslin Castle." It was afterwards set to music by his friend Allan Masterton, and called "The bonnie banks of Ayr." "I had been for some time," says the poet, "skulking from covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock; and I had composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia—'The gloomy night is gathering fast,'—when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my ambition." Professor Walker completes the sketch from materials supplied by the Poet: "Burns had left Dr. Lawrie's family after a visit, which he expected to be the last, and on his way home had to cross a wide stretch of solitary moor. His mind was strongly affected by parting for ever with a scene where he had tasted so much elegant and social pleasure, and depressed by the contrasted gloom of his prospects: the aspect of nature harmonised with his feelings; it was a lowering and heavy evening in the end of autumn. The wind was up and whistled through the rushes and long spear-grass which bent before it. The clouds were driving across the sky; and cold pelting showers at intervals added discomfort of body and cheerlessness of mind. Under these circumstances, and in this frame, Burns composed this poem."]
The gloomy night is gathering fast,
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
I see it driving o'er the plain.
The hunter now has left the moor,
The scatter'd coveys meet secure,
While here I wander, prest with care,
Along the lonely banks of Ayr.
