Untie these bands from off my hands, And bring to me my sword! And there's no a man in all Scotland, I've lived a life of sturt and strife; It burns my heart I must depart Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he; He played a spring and danced it round, XLIII THE GOAL OF LIFE SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet We twa hae run about the braes, But we've wandered mony a weary foot Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidled i' the burn But seas between us braid hae roared And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And we'll tak a right guid-willie waught For auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet XLIV BEFORE PARTING Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The battle closes thick and bloody; XLV DEVOTION O MARY, at thy window be, It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see, That mak the miser's treasure poor. How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, Yestreen, when to the trembling string To thee my fancy took its wing, I sat, but neither heard or saw: Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, the toast of a' the toun, And yon I sighed, and said amang them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison.' O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, XLVI TRUE UNTIL DEATH It was a' for our rightfu' King, We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain; My love and native land farewell, My dear, For I maun cross the main. 994048A He turned him right and round about And gae his bridle-reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear, Adieu for evermore. The sodger from the wars returns, Never to meet again, My dear, Never to meet again. When day is gane, and night is come, I think on him that's far awa, The lee-lang night, and weep. XLVII Burns. VENICE ONCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee |