 | Poems And Songs |  |
14
THE BURN IN THE GLEN.
I weel lo'e the bluebell on heathery hills waving,
As dearly the pinkie that blooms in the fen;
But better I lo'e the wee burnie that's laving
The bloom-laden rowan-boughs doon in yon Glen.
As dearly the pinkie that blooms in the fen;
But better I lo'e the wee burnie that's laving
The bloom-laden rowan-boughs doon in yon Glen.
The bluebell forsakes its sweet hame 'mang the heather,
In winter the pinkie aye hides frae my ken;
But darkly however auld Winter's frowns gather,
The bright blithesome burnie aye sings in the Glen.
In winter the pinkie aye hides frae my ken;
But darkly however auld Winter's frowns gather,
The bright blithesome burnie aye sings in the Glen.
The snawdrap I lo'e 'mang the withered grass springing,
As if it new hopes to poor mortals wad len';
The laverock I lo'e in the storm's shadow singing,
But mair the wee burnie that sings in the Glen.
As if it new hopes to poor mortals wad len';
The laverock I lo'e in the storm's shadow singing,
But mair the wee burnie that sings in the Glen.
15
For vainly the snawdrap at times blossoms near me;
As vainly the laverock aboon me sings then;
But never in vain are the efforts to cheer me,
Of yon bonnie burnie that sings in the Glen.
As vainly the laverock aboon me sings then;
But never in vain are the efforts to cheer me,
Of yon bonnie burnie that sings in the Glen.
Langsyne in my boyhood, when Sorrow assailed me—
For Care preys on callans as weel's on auld men—
When comrades were jeeringly wondering what ailed me,
For refuge I fled to the burn in the Glen.
For Care preys on callans as weel's on auld men—
When comrades were jeeringly wondering what ailed me,
For refuge I fled to the burn in the Glen.
And there, 'mang the ferns sitting doon, dreaming wildly,
I wished that my days sae micht pass and sae en';
And aye, as in sympathy, roughly or mildly,
The burn wimpled by me, and sang in the Glen.
I wished that my days sae micht pass and sae en';
And aye, as in sympathy, roughly or mildly,
The burn wimpled by me, and sang in the Glen.
When love o'er my young heart at first flung its meshes,
And Fate weary days wi' Despair gar't me spen',
How aften I sped at the gloaming, my wishes
To breathe to the burnie that sings in the Glen!
And Fate weary days wi' Despair gar't me spen',
How aften I sped at the gloaming, my wishes
To breathe to the burnie that sings in the Glen!
16
How welcome to me was the screen o' the hazel!
'Twas pleasure to sigh whare nae jeerer could ken;
What cared I though midges my haffets might maizzle,
When soothed by the burnie that sang in the Glen?
'Twas pleasure to sigh whare nae jeerer could ken;
What cared I though midges my haffets might maizzle,
When soothed by the burnie that sang in the Glen?
And noo turning grey, and o' dreams sick and weary,
The sum o' my years, aiblins, in their last ten,
There's naething in Nature I lo'e half sae dearly
As yon bonnie burnie that sings in the Glen.
The sum o' my years, aiblins, in their last ten,
There's naething in Nature I lo'e half sae dearly
As yon bonnie burnie that sings in the Glen.
Its linns hae nae rivals—its flowers are the rarest,
E'en wanting the charm that wide distance can len';
The maidens that bathe in its pools are the fairest;
Nae music's sae sweet as its sang in the Glen.
E'en wanting the charm that wide distance can len';
The maidens that bathe in its pools are the fairest;
Nae music's sae sweet as its sang in the Glen.
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