Woe’s my heart.
["Woe's my heart that we should sunder" is, the name of a very old tune, at least as old as the reign of James the sixth, but the original words to the tune are lost. The two following songs are by Ramsay. The second is one of Peggie's songs in "The Gentle Shepherd."]
I.
With broken words, and downcast eyes,
Poor Colin spoke his passion tender;
And, parting with his Grisy, cries,
Ah! woe's my heart that we should sunder.
To others I am cold as snow,
But kindle with thine eyes like tinder:
From thee with pain I'm forced to go;
It breaks my heart that we should sunder.
Chain'd to thy charms, I cannot range,
No beauty new my love shall hinder,
Nor time nor place shall ever change
My vows, though we're obligeil to sunder.
The image of thy graceful air,
And beauties which invite our wonder,
Thy lively wit and prudence rare,
Shall still be present though we sunder.
Dear nymph, believe thy swain in this,
You'll ne'er engage a heart that 's kinder;
Then seal a promise with a kiss,
Always to leve me though we sunder.
Ye gods! take care of my dear lass,
That as I leave her I may find her;
When that blest time shall come to pass,
We'll meet again and never sunder.
II.
Speak on—speak thus, and still my grief,
Hold up a heart that's sinking under
These fears that soon will want relief,
When Pate must from his Peggy sunder.
A gentler face, and silk attire,
A lady rich, in beauty's blossom,
Alack, poor me! will now conspire
To steal thee from thy Peggy's bosom.
Nae mair the shepherd wha excell'd
The rest, whase wit made them to wonder,
Shall now his Peggy's praises tell;
Ah! I can die, but never sunder.
Ye meadows, where we alien stray'd,
Ye banks, where we were wont to wander,
Sweet-scented rucks, round which we play'd,
You'll lose your sweets when we're asunder.
Again, ah! shall I never creep
Around the knowe with silent duty,
Kindly to watch thee, while asleep,
And wonder at thy manly beauty?
Hear, heaven, while solemnly I vow,
Tho' thou should'st prove a wand'ring lover,
Through life to thee I shall prove true,
Nor be a wife to any other.
The Highland Queen.
[This song appears in Ruddiman's Edinburgh Magazine for April, 1758. Burns says that the author was a Mr. Macvicar, purser of the Solbay man of war.]
No more my song shall be, ye swains,
Of purling streams, or flowery plains;
More pleasing beauties me inspire,
And Phœbus tunes the warbling lyre;
Divinely aided, thus I mean
To celebrate my Highland queen.
In her, sweet innocence ye'll find,
With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd;
From pride and affectation free,
Alike she smiles on you and me.
The brightest nymph that trips the green,
I do pronounce my Highland queen.
No sordid wish, or trifling joy,
Her settled calm of mind destroy;
Strict honour fills her spotless soul,
And adds a lustre to the whole;
A matchless shape, a graceful mien,
All centre in my Highland queen.
How blest that youth, whom gentle fate
Has destined for so fair a mate!
Has all these wond'rous gifts in store,
And each returning day brings more;
No youth so happy can be seen,
Possessing thee, my Highland queen.
