Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne With a Memoir and Poems of Caroline Oliphant the Younger: Edited by the Rev. Charles Rogers ... With a Portrait and Other Illustrations |
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CAIRNEY BURN. |
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 | Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne |  |
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CAIRNEY BURN.
Oh Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Thou makest many a winding turn;
How sweet thy murmurings to hear,
Like plaintive music to mine ear;
Tho' things sair chang'd we mourn to see,
Yet, burnie, there's nae change in thee,
Still, still, thy waters clear rin on,
'Mang woody braes and mossy stone.
Thou makest many a winding turn;
How sweet thy murmurings to hear,
Like plaintive music to mine ear;
Tho' things sair chang'd we mourn to see,
Yet, burnie, there's nae change in thee,
Still, still, thy waters clear rin on,
'Mang woody braes and mossy stone.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Half blythe, half wae, to thee I turn;
But where are they wha sat wi' me,
Sae pleased aneath thy shady tree?
Oh! where are they whase wee bit feet
Wad wade delighted thro' the weet?
Scrambling up 'mang thorns and beech,
The nits and brambles a' to reach.
Half blythe, half wae, to thee I turn;
But where are they wha sat wi' me,
Sae pleased aneath thy shady tree?
Oh! where are they whase wee bit feet
Wad wade delighted thro' the weet?
Scrambling up 'mang thorns and beech,
The nits and brambles a' to reach.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
May Mammon's hand ne'er come to turn
Thy waters clear to dingy dye,
Nor smoky clouds obscure thy sky!
Let no rude revelling intrude
To break this holy solitude;
Here may no still—no barley-bree—
Augment poor Scotia's misery.
May Mammon's hand ne'er come to turn
Thy waters clear to dingy dye,
Nor smoky clouds obscure thy sky!
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To break this holy solitude;
Here may no still—no barley-bree—
Augment poor Scotia's misery.
Oh, Cairney burn, sweet Cairney burn,
Still, still to thee my heart doth turn;
Wider, deeper streams, I see,
But nane sae sweet, sae dear to me.
Here first we heard the Cuckoo sing,
With all the melody of spring;
Here her footsteps first were seen,
Strewing flowers upon the green.
Still, still to thee my heart doth turn;
Wider, deeper streams, I see,
But nane sae sweet, sae dear to me.
Here first we heard the Cuckoo sing,
With all the melody of spring;
Here her footsteps first were seen,
Strewing flowers upon the green.
| Life and Songs of the Baroness Nairne | |