Mary Morison 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 And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, And my fause luver staw the rose, 1792. 12 16 20 Robert Burns. MARY MORISON O MARY, at thy window be! It is the wish'd, the trysted hour. A weary slave frae sun to sun, Yestreen, when to the trembling string I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 8 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 1793. 1800. Robert Burns. 16 24 O, SAW YE 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 forever; Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 12 O My Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose 1798. The deil he could na scaith thee, And say, "I canna wrang thee!" The Powers aboon will tent thee; Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie! That we may brag we hae a lass 16 20 24 Robert Burns. O MY LUVE 'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE O MY Luve 's like a red, red rose So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 8 I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 16 1796. Robert Burns. AE FOND KISS AE fond kiss, and then we sever; Deep in heart-wrung tears I 'll pledge thee, Who shall say that Fortune grieves him Dark despair around benights me. I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Had we never loved sae kindly, 8 12 16 1792. Of a' the Airts Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest! Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! 20 Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Robert Burns. 1790. OF A' THE AIRTS OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And monie a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean. 16 Robert Burns. |