robert burns

The Farewell

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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 turn’d him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore,
My dear–
With, Adieu for evermore!

The sodger frae 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.

 

– Robert Burns

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Up In The Morning Early

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Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;
Sae loud shrill`s I hear the blast,
I`m sure it`s winters fairly.

CHORUS:Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the mornings early;
When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering on the the thorn,
A` day they fare but sparely;
And lang`s the night frae e`en to morn,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.

CHORUS: Up in the morning`s no for me,
Up in the mornings early;
When a` the hills are cover`d wi` snaw,
I`m sure it`s winter fairly.

 

– Robert Burns

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The Rigs O’ Barley

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It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon’s unclouded light,
I held away to Annie:
The time flew by wi’ tentless heed
Till ‘tween the late and early,
Wi’ sma’ persuasion, she agreed
To see me thro’ the barley.
Corn rigs, an’ barley rigs,
An’ corn rigs are bonnie:
I’ll ne’er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi’ Annie.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly:
I set her down, wi’ right good will,
Amang the rigs o’ barley:
I ken’t her heart was a’ my ain:
I lov’d her most sincerely;
I kiss’d her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o’ barley.
Corn rigs…

I lock’d her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o’ barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o’ barley.
Corn rigs…

I ha’e been blythe wi’ comrades dear;
I ha’e been merry drinkin’;
I ha’e been joyfu’ gatherin’ gear;
I ha’e been happy thinkin’:
But a’ the pleasures e’er I saw,
Tho’ three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth then a’,
Amang the rigs o’ barley.
Corn rigs…

 

– Robert Burns

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Now Spring Has Clad The Grove In Green

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Now Spring has clad the grove in green,

And strew’d the lea wi’ flowers;
The furrow’d, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers:
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe?

The trout in yonder wimpling burn
That glides, a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn
Defies the angler’s art —
My life was ance that careless stream,
That wanton trout was I;
But love, wi’ unrelenting beam,
Has scorch’d my fountains dry.

The little flow’ret’s peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet’s flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine; till love has o’er me past,
And blighted a’ my bloom,
And now beneath the with’ring blast
My youth and joy consume.

The waken’d lav’rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings
In morning’s rosy eye:
As little reckt I sorrow’s power,
Until the flowery snare
O’ witching love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o’ care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric’s burning zone,
Wi’ man and nature leagu’d my foes,
So Peggy ne’er I’d known!
The wretch whase doom is, “hope nae mair,”
What tongue his woes can tell!
Within whase bosom, save despair,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.

 

– Robert Burns

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A Red, Red Rose

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O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

 

– Robert Burns

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21st July – On This Day In History

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Born:

1899 Ernest Hemingway (author – The Old Man And The Sea)

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Died:

1796 Robert Burns (poet)

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On This Day:

1831 Belgium gains its independence (from Netherlands)

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Have a good Saturday, 21st July

 

 

Coming Through The Rye

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Coming thro’ the rye, poor body,
Coming thro’ the rye,
She draiglet a’ her petticoatie
Coming thro’ the rye.

O, Jenny’s a’ wat, poor body;
Jenny’s seldom dry;
She draiglet a’ her petticoatie
Coming thro’ the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro’ the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body—
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro’ the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body—
Need the warld ken?

 

– Robert Burns

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