Poems & songs . e my breast inflame; And aye I muse and sing thy name— I only live to love I were doomd to wander onBeyond the sea, beyond the sun,Till my last weary sand was run ; Till then—and then Id love thee. THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. Tune—Maggy Lauder. I married with a scolding wife, The fourteenth of November;She made me weary of my life, By one unruly did I bear the heavy yoke, And many griefs attended ;But, to my comfort be it spoke, Now, now her life is ended. We livd full one-and-twenty years, A man and wife together;At length from me her course she steerd, And gone I
Poems & songs . e my breast inflame; And aye I muse and sing thy name— I only live to love I were doomd to wander onBeyond the sea, beyond the sun,Till my last weary sand was run ; Till then—and then Id love thee. THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. Tune—Maggy Lauder. I married with a scolding wife, The fourteenth of November;She made me weary of my life, By one unruly did I bear the heavy yoke, And many griefs attended ;But, to my comfort be it spoke, Now, now her life is ended. We livd full one-and-twenty years, A man and wife together;At length from me her course she steerd, And gone I know not whither :Would I could guess, I do profess, I speak, and do not flatter,Of all the women in the world, I never could come at her. THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER. 175 Her body is bestowed well, A handsome grave does hide her;But sure her soul is not in hell, The deil could neer abide rather think she is aloft, And imitating thunder;For why,—methinks I hear her voice Tearing the clouds THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER. Air.—The Mill, Mill, 0! When wild wars deadly blast was blawn, And gentle peace returning,Wi mony a sweet babe fatherless, And mony a widow mourning; SONGS BY ROBERT BURNS. I left the lines and tented field,Where lang Id been a lodger, My humble knapsack a ray wealth,A poor and honest sodger. A leal, light heart was in my breast, My hand unstaind wi plunder,And for fair Scotia, hame again, I cheery on did thought upon the banks o Coil, I thought upon my Nancy,I thought upon the witching smile That caught my youthful fancy. At length I reachd the bonnie glen Where early life I sported ;I passd the mill, and trysting thorn, Where Nancy aft I courted :Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, Down by her mothers dwelling!And turnd me round to hide the flood That in my een was swelling. Wi alterd voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, Sweet as yon hawthorns blossom,O ! happy, happy may he be, Thats dearest to thy bosom !My purse is light, Ive far to gan
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Keywords: ., bookauthorburnsrob, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
