VII

THE TENDER NORTH

Though from the North the damsel came,

All Spring is in her breast,
Her skin is of the driven snow,

But sun-shine all the rest.

Anon.

Robbie's Sum of the Whole Matter

HERE'S nought but care on every han',

THE

In every hour that passes, O!

What signifies the life of man,

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

The warly race may riches chase,
And riches still may fly them, O!
And tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my deary, O!
And warly cares and warly men
May all gang tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

For you sae douse, wha sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O!
The wisest man the warld e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest wark she classes, O!
Her prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!

Green grow the rashes, O!

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

Robert Burns

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.

Robert Burns

Mary Morison o

O

MARY, at thy window be,

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

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."

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.

Robert Burns

Jeanie Morrison

I'VE

"VE wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through many a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en,
May weel be black 'gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygone years

Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blythe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,

'Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at scule,

Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones and looks and smiles were shed,

Remembered evermair.