Volume Ii Part 109 (1/2)
”AE FOND KISS”
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him While the star of Hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy; Naething could resist my Nancy; But to see her was to love her, Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
”THE DAY RETURNS”
The day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; Though winter wild in tempest toiled, Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o'er the sultry line,-- Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, Heaven gave me more,--it made thee mine.
While day and night can bring delight.
Or Nature aught of pleasure give,-- While joys above my mind can move, For thee, and thee alone, I live.
When that grim foe of life below Comes in between to make us part, The iron hand that breaks our band, It breaks my bliss,--it breaks my heart.
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
MY BONNIE MARY
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver ta.s.sie, That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie la.s.sie.
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, The s.h.i.+p rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and b.l.o.o.d.y; But it's no the roar o' sea or sh.o.r.e Wad mak me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar-- It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary!
Robert Burns [1759-1796]