guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the love-rolling ee; But why urge the tender confession
'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decree?- Jessy!
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet,
And soft as their parting tear-Jessy!
[These lines so equisitely tender and beautiful were written in praise of Jessy Lewars, now Mrs. James Thomson of Dumfries, to whom Burns during his last hours addressed some of his most affecting verses. The young lady watched over the great poet in his last illness, and soothed down some of his bitterest moments; her kindliness and attention has been rewarded by immortality. The song to Jessy is, as Currie tells us, "the last finished offspring of Burns' muse."
The Editor has good authority in stating that Jessy Lewars was the heroine of another of Burns' songs:
Oh! wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea
which the poet wrote to continue something of the sentiment contained in the whimsical old verses:
The Robin came to the wren's nest,
the honour of being the heroine of this song, Mr. Cunningham has given to Mrs. Riddel. See Works, vol. v. p. 72.]
Saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my ain thing,
Saw ye my true love down on yon lea
Crossed she the meadow yestreen at the gloaming,
Sought she the burnie where flowers the hawtree?
Her hair it is lint-white, her skin it is milk-white,
Dark is the blue of her soft rolling e'e:
Red, red are her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses,
Where could my wee thing wander frae me?
I saw nae your wee thing, I saw nae your ain thing,
Nor saw I your true love down by yon
lea;
But I met my bonnie thing late in the gloaming,
Down by the burnie where flowers the hawtree :
Her hair it was lint-white, her skin it was milk-white,
Dark was the blue of her soft rolling e'e;
Red were her ripe lips and sweeter than roses-
Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me.
It was nae my wee thing, it was nae my ain thing,
It was nae my true love ye met by the tree :
Proud is her leal heart, modest her nature,
She never loved ony till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary, she's frae Castle-cary,
Aft has she sat when a bairn on my knee:
Fair as your face is, were't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger she ne'er wad gie kisses to thee.
It was then your Mary; she's frae Castle-cary,
It was then your true love I met by the tree;
Proud as her heart is and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me.
Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew,
Wild flashed the fire frae his red rolling e'e:
Ye'se rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning,
Defend ye fause traitor, fu' loudly ye lie.
Away wi' beguiling, cried the youth smiling-
Off went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flee,
The belted plaid faʼing, her white bosom shawing,
Fair stood the loved maid wi' the dark rolling e’e.
Is it my wee thing, is it my ain thing,
Is it my true love here that I see:
O Jamie forgie me, your heart's constant to me,
I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee.
Come under my plaidy, the night's gaun to fa,'
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift and the snaw;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
I'll hap ye frae ev'ry cauld blast that can blaw;
Come under my plaidy, and sit down beside me,
There's room in't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.
Gae wa' wi' your plaidy! auld Donald, gae wa'
I fear na' the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw;
Gae wa' wi' your plaidy! I'll no sit beside ye,
Ye might be my gutcher, auld Donald, gae wa'!
I'm gaun to meet Johnny, he's young and he's bonny,
He's been at Meg's bridal sae trig and sae braw;
O nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu' or tightly!
His cheek's like the new rose, his brow's like the snaw!
Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa',
Your Jock's but a gowk, and has naething ava;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back;
He's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa :
Be frank now and kindly, I'll busk ye aye finely,
To kirk or to market they'll nane gang sae braw;
A bien house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'.
My father aye taul'd me, my mither and a',
Ye'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw:
It's true I lo❜e Johnny, he's young and he's bonny,
But, wae's me, I ken he has naething ava !
I hae little tocher, ye've made a gude offer,
I'm now mair than twenty, my time is but sma';
Sae gi'e me your plaidy, I'll creep in beside ye,
I thought ye'd been aulder than threescore and twa.
She crap in ayont him beside the stane wa',
Where Johnny was list'nin, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed! his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa.
He wander'd hame weary, the night it was dreary,
And thowless he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw;
The owlet was screaming, while Johnny cried, Women
Wad marry Auld Nick, if he'd keep them aye braw.
O the de'il's in the lasses! they gang now sae braw,
They'll lie down wi' auld men o' fourscore and twa;
The haill of their marriage is gowd and a carriage,
Plain love is the caldest blast now that can blaw!
Auld dotards, be wary! tak tent when ye marry,
Young wives wi' their coaches they'll whip and they'll
Till they meet wi' some Johnny that's youthfu' and
And they'll gi'e ye horns on ilk haffet to claw.
THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER.
Let us go, lassie, go,
To the braes of Balquhither,
Where the blae-berries grow
'Mang the bonnie Highland heather;
Where the deer and the roe,
Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang summer day
On the braes o' Balquhither.
I will twine thee a bower,
By the clear siller fountain,
And I'll cover it o'er,
Wi' the flowers of the mountain,
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