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THE SONGS OF BURNS.
A VISION.
TUNE—'CUMNOCK PSALMS.'
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa' flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care;
Where the wa' flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care;
CHORUS.
A lassie, all alone was making her moan,
Lamenting our lads beyond the sea:
In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's gane an' a',
And broken-hearted we maun die.
A lassie, all alone was making her moan,
Lamenting our lads beyond the sea:
In the bluidy wars they fa', and our honour's gane an' a',
And broken-hearted we maun die.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.
The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roarings swell and fa'.
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa',
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roarings swell and fa'.
The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moon-beam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.
And, by the moon-beam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.
Had I a statue been o' stane,
His darin look had daunted me:
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain
The sacred posy—Libertie!
His darin look had daunted me:
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain
The sacred posy—Libertie!
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear;
But oh, it was a tale of woe,
As ever met a Briton's ear!
Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear;
But oh, it was a tale of woe,
As ever met a Briton's ear!
He sang wi' joy his former day,
He weeping wail'd his latter times;
But what he said it was nae play,
I winna venture't in my rhymes.
He weeping wail'd his latter times;
But what he said it was nae play,
I winna venture't in my rhymes.
O, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST.
TUNE—'THE LASS OF LIVINGSTONE.'
O, wert thou in the cauld blast,
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee.
Or did misfortune's bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To share it a', to share it a'.
Or were I in the wildest waste,
Of earth and air, of earth and air,
The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The only jewel in my crown,
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
Of earth and air, of earth and air,
The desert were a paradise,
If thou wert there, if thou wert there.
Or were I monarch o' the globe,
Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign,
The only jewel in my crown,
Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
