Part 15 (1/2)

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' 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.

_Burns._

XLV

DEVOTION

O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wished, the trysted hour!

Those smiles and glances let me see, That mak 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 through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw; Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the toun, I sighed, and said amang them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison.'

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, Wha for thy sake wad gladly die?

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.

_Burns._

XLVI

TRUE UNTIL DEATH

It was a' for our rightfu' King, We left fair Scotland's strand; It was a' for our rightfu' King We e'er saw Irish land, My dear, We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land farewell, For I maun cross the main, My dear, For I maun cross the main.

He turned him right and round about Upon the Irish sh.o.r.e; And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear, Adieu for evermore.

The sodger from the wars returns, The sailor frae the main; But I hae parted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear, Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep; I think on him that's far awa, The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear, The lee-lang night, and weep.

_Burns._