OF A' THE AIRTS.

[From Johnson's Musical Museum III (1790)]

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best.

I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's wild woods grow, and rivers There's not a bonie flower that

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Chorus.

springs

By fountain, shaw, or green, There's not a bonie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean.

AULD LANG SYNE.

[Sent to Mrs. Dunlop, 17 Dec. 1788]

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

THOU LING'RING STAR.

[Written in memory of Mary Campbell († 1786) and sent to Mrs. Dunlop, 8 Nov. 1789]

Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray, | Eternity cannot efface
That lov'st to greet the early
morn,
Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary, dear departed shade!

Those records dear of transports past,
Thy image at our last embrace -

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where, by the winding Ayr, we met To live one day of parting love?

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Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! 16

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods thicken-
ing green;
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar
Twin'd amorous round the rap- 20
tur'd scene;

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 24

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, |
And fondly broods with miser-care.
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
28 As streams their channels deeper

wear.

O Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

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MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS.
[From Johnson's Musical Museum III (1790)]

Chorus. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer,
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of valour, the country of worth!
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

8 The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high-cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below,
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
12 Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!

10 Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter;
16 (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
20 A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That, frae November till October,

Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder wi' the miller

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
25 That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,

80 Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon, Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet
To think how monie counsels sweet,
35 How monie lengthen'd sage advices
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale: Ae market-night
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
40 Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy cronie:
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
45 The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter;
And ay the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious
Wi' favours secret, sweet and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
50 The landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
55 As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

That flit ere you can point their place; 65 Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm.

Nae man can tether time or tide;

The hour approaches Tam maun ride: That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 70 That dreary hour Tam mounts his beast in; And sic a night he taks the road in, As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling show'rs rose on the blast; 76 The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd: That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his gray mare Meg, 80 A better never lifted leg,

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;

Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,
85 Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares:
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,

Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, 90 Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd; And past the birks and meikle stane, Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane; And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn; 95 And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 100 Near and more near the thunders roll: When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze;

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Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;

Wi' usquabae, we'll face the Devil!

The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
110 Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, vow! Tam saw an unco sight!

115

Warlocks and witches in a dance.
Nae cotillion, brent-new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.

A winnock-bunker in the east,

120 There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd the pipes, and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.

125 Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses;
And, by some devilish cantraip sleight,
Each in its cauld hand held a light:
By which heroic Tam was able

130 To note upon the haly table

A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape;
135 Five tomahawks wi' bluid red-rusted;
Five scymitars wi' murder crusted;
A garter which a babe had strangled;
A knife a father's throat had mangled
Whom his ain son o' life bereft
140 The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;

145 The piper loud and louder blew,

The dancers quick and quicker flew:

They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,

And coost her duddies to the wark,

160 And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had thae been queans, A' plump and strapping in their teens! Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen! 155 Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,

That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair,