FAVOURITE ROBERT BURNS POEMS
A Red Red Rose
1794
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 bonie 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;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!
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 bonie 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;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!
The
Lass o' Ballochmyle
The
Bonnie Lass o' Ballochmyle was Wilhelmina Alexander (1753-1843) who
was a sister of the laird of Ballochmyle, on the banks of the River
Ayr. Burns saw her on the banks of the river and sent the song to
her. Wilhelmina did not reply but in her old age (still a spinster)
the song was said to be one of her most treasured possessions. The
"chorus" was not part of the original poem and has been
added as part of the poem's conversion to a beautiful song, sung to a
tune "Ettrick Banks."
The Lass o' Ballochmyle
'Twas even: the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang.
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
All Nature list'ning seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle
On every blade the pearls hang,
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang.
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang,
All Nature list'ning seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle
Chorus
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle
The bonnie lass!
The bonnie, bonnie lass!
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle
The bonnie lass!
The bonnie, bonnie lass!
The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in Nature's joy,
When, musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy.
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd, passing by: -
'Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!'
My heart rejoic'd in Nature's joy,
When, musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy.
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd, passing by: -
'Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!'
Chorus
Fair is the morn in flow'ry May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild,
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But woman, Nature's darling child -
There all her charms she does compile;
Even there her other works are foil'd
By the bonnie lass 0' Ballochmyle.
And sweet is night in autumn mild,
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But woman, Nature's darling child -
There all her charms she does compile;
Even there her other works are foil'd
By the bonnie lass 0' Ballochmyle.
Chorus
O, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotia's plain!
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain,
The bonnie lass 0' Ballochmyle!
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotia's plain!
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain,
The bonnie lass 0' Ballochmyle!
Chorus
Then Pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep
Or downward seek the Indian mine!
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the soil,
And ev'ry day have joys divine
With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep
Or downward seek the Indian mine!
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the soil,
And ev'ry day have joys divine
With the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.
Chorus
The Star o' Rabbie Burns
There is a star whose beaming ray
Is shed on ev'ry clime.
It shines by night, it shines by day
And ne'er grows dim wi' time.
It rose upon the banks of Ayr,
It shone on Doon's clear stream -
A hundred years are gane and mair,
Yet brighter grows its beam.
Is shed on ev'ry clime.
It shines by night, it shines by day
And ne'er grows dim wi' time.
It rose upon the banks of Ayr,
It shone on Doon's clear stream -
A hundred years are gane and mair,
Yet brighter grows its beam.
Chorus
Let kings and courtiers rise and fa',
This world has mony turns
But brightly beams aboon them a'
The star o' Rabbie Burns.
Let kings and courtiers rise and fa',
This world has mony turns
But brightly beams aboon them a'
The star o' Rabbie Burns.
Though he was but a ploughman lad
And wore the hodden grey,
Auld Scotland's sweetest bard was bred
Aneath a roof o'strae.
To sweep the strings o'Scotia's lyre,
It needs nae classic lore;
It's mither wit an native fire
That warms the bosom's core.
And wore the hodden grey,
Auld Scotland's sweetest bard was bred
Aneath a roof o'strae.
To sweep the strings o'Scotia's lyre,
It needs nae classic lore;
It's mither wit an native fire
That warms the bosom's core.
Chorus
On fame's emblazon'd page enshrin'd
His name is foremost now,
And many a costly wreath's been twin'd
To grace his honest brow.
And Scotland's heart expands wi' joy
Whene'er the day returns
That gave the world its peasant boy
Immortal Rabbie Burns.
His name is foremost now,
And many a costly wreath's been twin'd
To grace his honest brow.
And Scotland's heart expands wi' joy
Whene'er the day returns
That gave the world its peasant boy
Immortal Rabbie Burns.
Chorus
Meaning of unusual words:
gane=gone
mair=more
fa'=fall
aboon=above
hodden gray=coarse homespun cloth made from a mixture of black and white wool
strae=straw
gane=gone
mair=more
fa'=fall
aboon=above
hodden gray=coarse homespun cloth made from a mixture of black and white wool
strae=straw
SWEET AFTON
1791
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream
The
Banks O' Doon
1791
Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine;
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
And may fause Luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.
Aft hae I rov'd by Bonie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o' its Luve,
And fondly sae did I o' mine;
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree!
And may fause Luver staw my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
Useful websites (there are many)
If you don't know the tunes for these try listening to Kenneth McKellar. He recorded many years ago and he had one of the finest tenor voices in the world.
If you would like backing tracks for songs a very good site is
http://www.pianotracksformusicals.com
Oh yes!! It takes a while, but here you are - very festive & entertaining.
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