But gi'e to me my Julia dear,
Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba',
An' O! sae blythe through life I'll steer,
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
Whan gloamin' dauners up the hill,
An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes,
Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill
That owre the muir meand'ring rowes;
Or tint amang the scroggy knowes,
My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw,
An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes,
The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.
An' whan auld Scotland's heathy hills,
Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains,
Her flow'ry wilds an' wimpling rills,
Awake nae mair my canty strains;
Whare friendship dwells an' freedom reigns,
Whare heather blooms an' muircocks craw,
O! dig my grave, and hide my banes
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
The Braes of Ballahun.
[Thomas Cunningham. Ballahun is a picturesque glen near Blackwood House, on the river Nith.]
Now smiling summer's balmy breeze,
Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees:
The linnet greets the rosy morn,
Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn;
The bee hums round the woodbine bower,
Collecting sweets from every flower;
And pure the crystal streamlets run
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
O blissful days, for ever fled,
When wand'ring wild as Fancy led,
I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen,
The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn,
And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush,
Where nestling sat the speckled thrush;
Or careless roaming, wandered on,
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh,
When hills and dales rebound with joy?
The flowery glen, and lilied lea
In vain display their charms to me.
I joyless roam the heathy waste,
To soothe this sad, this troubled breast;
And seek the haunts of men to shun
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
The virgin blush of lovely youth,
The angel smile of artless truth,
This breast illum'd with heavenly joy,
Which lyart time can ne'er destroy:
Julia dear!—the parting look,
The sad farewell we sorrowing took,
Still haunt me as I stray alone
Amang the braes of Ballahun.
Cessnock Banks.
[This song—elaborate in its similitudes, but at the same time beautiful—was an early unpublished production of Burns's.—Cromek recovered it from the recitation of a lady in Glasgow with whom the poet was intimately acquainted. In Pickering's edition of Burns, a version is given from the author's own manuscript, which differs little from Cromek's, but which we here follow. Who the heroine of Cessnock Banks was has not transpired. The tune of the song is called "If he be a butcher neat and trim."]
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
Could I describe her shape and mien;
Our lasses a' she far excels,—
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een.
She's sweeter than the morning dawn,
When rising Phœbus first is seen,
And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een.
She's stately, like yon youthful ash,
That grows the cowslip braes between,
And drinks the stream wi' vigour fresh;
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een.
She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
With flow'rs so white, and leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn;
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een.
Her looks are like the vernal May,
When ev'ning Phœbus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on every spray;
An' she 's twa sparkling, rogueish een.
