MARY MORISON Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, THO' CRUEL FATE THO' cruel fate should bid us part, Her dear idea round my heart, Should tenderly entwine. Tho' mountains rise, and deserts howl, Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I'LL AY CA' IN BY YON TOWN Chorus-I'll ay ca' in by yon town, And by yon garden-green again; Anr see my bonie Jean again.1 THERE'S nane shall ken, there's nane can guess She'll wander by the aiken tree, When' trystin' time draws near again; O haith! she's doubly dear again. 1 Burns first met Jean Armour at a dance in Mauchline. They were not partners, but she overheard him say, when his dog followed him in the dance, "I wish I could find a lassie as fond of me as my dog." A short time afterwards Jean, then 18 years of age, was carrying water to bleach her clothes on the bleaching green, and she asked Burns as he was passing, "Have you found a lassie yet to love you as well as your dog?" OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW 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: There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between: But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonie flower that springs, By fountain, shaw, or green; IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONIE FACE IT IS na, Jean, thy bonie face Something, in ilka part o' thee, Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, Content am I if heaven shall give And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, For thee I'd bear to die. BONIE JEAN BONIE JEAN THERE was a lass, and she was fair, And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, The blythest bird upon the bush Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. But hawks will rob the tender joys Young Robie was the brawest lad, He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down; And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist, Her heart was tint, her peace was stown! As in the bosom of the stream, The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; |