But it's not the roar o' sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar -
It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

THE BANKS O' DOON

YE flowery banks o' bonnie Doon
How can ye blume sae fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care!

Thou 'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird
That sings upon the bough ;
Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Luve was true.

Thou 'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird

That sings beside thy mate;

For sae I sat, and sae I sang,

And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon
To see the woodbine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its love;
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Frae aff its thorny tree;

And my fause luver staw the rose,
But left the thorn wi' me.

TO A MOUSE

15

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On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785

WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie,

O what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

5

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,

An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle

10

At me, thy poor earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave

15

'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,

And never miss 't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin :
And naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!

20

An' bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell an' keen!

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,

But house or hald,

To thole the winter's sleety dribble

35

An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane
In proving foresight may be vain :
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

40

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

MARY MORISON

O MARY, at thy window be,

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It is the wish'd, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see
That make the miser's treasure poor:
How blithely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

5

Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing, -
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sigh'd, and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."

10

15

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,

Whase only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o' Mary Morison.

20 BONNIE LESLEY

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border?

She 's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee;
Thou art divine, Fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.

The Deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee;
He'd look into thy bonnie face,
And say "I canna wrang thee!"

The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely
That ill they 'll ne'er let near thee.

Return again, Fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie!

That we may brag we hae a lass
There 's nane again sae bonnie.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE

O MY Luve 's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

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As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

HIGHLAND MARY

Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,

Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel

O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom !
The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace

Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again,

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10

15

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10

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We tore oursels asunder;

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But, Oh! fell Death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!