Of a’ the airts.
[This very beautiful song was at one time popular all over the country, and though not now so frequently to be heard, it is still a general favourite.—Burns wrote the first two verses of it in the summer of 1788, just when he had taken possession of the farm of Ellisland, in Dumfriesshire, and was overseeing the erection of new farm-house and offices, previous to the reception of Jean Armour as his legalized wife. During this period, which he calls his "honeymoon," he seems to have entertained the fondest affection and highest admiration for his "bonnie Jean," and to have contemplated with rapture the prospect of being at last enabled to place her in honourable position under a roof of his own. The song, beginning,
"O were I on Parnassus' hill,"
was written at this time also, and betrays, even more passionately than the present, the depth of his affection towards his recently-wedded wife. So, It was not till November in the above year that Mrs. Burns was removed to Ellisland, but during the long summer, while the farm-steading was being rebuilt, the poet paid several visits to Ayrshire, and saw her at her father's house in Mauchline. The four concluding stanzas of the song, as here given, were not written by Burns, but were, we believe, added by William Reid, late bookseller in Glassow. Other accounts say, that Mr. Reid was author only of the third and fourth stanzas, and that the two concluding ones were written by John Hamilton, bookseller, Edinburgh.—The air of the song was composed by William Marshall, butler to the duke of Gordon, and called "Mliss Admiral Gordon's strathspey. It was partly founded on the old tune, "The Lowlands of Holland."]
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west:
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lass that I lo'e best:
Though wild woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi' monie a hill between,
Baith day and night, my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flow’r,
Sae lovely, sweet, and fair;
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi' music charm the air:
There's not a bonnie flower that springs.
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonnie bird that sings.
But minds me o' my Jean.
Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde
The lasses busk them braw;
But when their best they ha'e put on,
My Jeanie dings them a';
In hamely weeds she far exceeds
The fairest o' the town;
Baith sage and gay confess it sae,
Though drest in russet gown.
The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam,
Mair harmless canna be;
She has nae faut, if sic ye ca't,
Except her love for me:
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue,
Is like her shining een;
In shape and air, wha can compare
Wi' my sweet lovely Jean?
O blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees;
Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale,
Bring hame the laden bees;
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae blink o' her wad banish care,
Sae lovely is my Jean.
What sighs and vows amang the knowes
Ha'e past atween us twa!
How fain to meet, how wae to part,
That day she gade awa'!
The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me,
As my sweet lovely Jean!