Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow; ["The first half-stanza of this song is old."-BURNS.] THE SONG OF DEATH. ROBERT BURNS. Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties ! Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, Thou strik'st the dull peasant; he sinks in the dark, Thou strik'st the young hero, a glorious mark ! In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands, Our king and our country to save, While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, Oh! who would not die with the brave? "Scene. [Burns thus describes the scene of this stimulating song, A field of battle. The wounded and the dying are supposed to join in singing the above song." An Isle of Sky tune suggested to Burns, "The Song of Death."] THERE WAS A LASS, AND SHE WAS FAIR. ROBERT BURNS. There was a lass, and she was fair, And aye she wrought her country wark, But hawks will rob the tender joys That bless the little lintwhite's nest; And love will break the soundest rest. Young Robie was the brawest lad, That turn'd the maute in yon town-en', And wanton naigies nine or ten. He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danc'd wi Jeanie on the down; Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.* And as she wrought her country wark, But didna Jeanie's heart loup light, While mony a bird sang sweet o' love, His cheek to her's he aft did lay, And whisper'd thus his tender tale.t The following verse, which Burns asked Thomson if it was not original, is not in the MS. As in the bosom o' the stream The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; + In the printed copy. The sun was sinking in the west, O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; And canst thou think to fancy me? And learn to turn the maute wi' me? Thy handsome foot thou shalt na set Now Jeanie wist na what to say, She had nae will to say him na : ["The above ballad I think in my best style."-BURNS. The heroine of " this exquisite song," as Mr. Cunningham calls it, was Miss Jean M'Murdo (now Mrs. Crauford), the eldest daughter of Burns' kind friend Mr. M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig; "I have not painted her," says the poet, "in the rank which she holds in life, but in the dress and character of a cottager." It was written in 1789, and sent with a letter to the mother of the young lady, (Works, vol. vii. p. 35.) but does not appear to have been published till 1793, when the poet sent it to George Thomson, greatly altered in language from the copy given to Mrs. M'Murdo. (Works, v. p. 88.) The Editor has printed from the MS. copy, that no thoughts of such a great man or such a beautiful and simple ballad should be lost.] In the printed copy. At barn or byre thou shaltna drudge, And tent the waving corn wi' me. VOL. II. R GROVES O' SWEET MYRTLE. ROBERT BURNS. Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they? The haunt of the tyrant and slave! The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, [The Bonnie Jean of this fine song, was Mrs. Burns.] |