Pretty maid milking her cow/A Solemn Dirge

A SOLEMN DIRGE,

on the death of robert burns, the

scots bard

WHAT! is there ill news you're so sad,
Robin Gray.
That thy blue bonnet's pull d o er they brow?
O! sad news! sad! sad!
Poor Robin is dead
And the plowman weeps over his plow,
Well a well a day,
And the plowman weeps over his plow.

Is his pipe mute for ay, and for ay,
Robin Gray.
No more shall we tend to his song?
Aye cold as a clod
Beneath the greed sod,
Poor Robin they've lain all along,
Well a well a day,
Poor Robin they've lain all along,

Adieu thon the forest and hill,
Robin Gray,
and farewel the wallies and grove!

Why, the forest and hill,
And the vallies ring still
Still echo his ditties of love,
Well a well a day,
Still echo his ditties of love.

The sad sound of echo I'll shun,
Robin Gray,
It's dying notes live on my mind;
Can you then as you roam,
From your forefathers home,
Leave your country's feeling behind,
Well a well a day,
Leave your country's feeling behind.

Still the blackbird shall sing on the thorn,
Robin Gray,
And the lark early carol on high,
But the lowly lodg'd swain,
As he scatters his grain,
Will chant Robin's verse with a sigh,
Well a well a day,
Will chant Robin's verse with a sigh,

Soft lies on his bosom the turf,
Robin Gray,
Rest his ashes unmingled and pure!
May the tomb of his urn
Calendonia adorn,
And his much lov'd remains ay secure!
Well a well a day!
And his much lov'd remains ay secure!