Tho’ Cruel Fate Should Bid Us Part
Tune—“The Northern Lass.”
Tho’ cruel fate should bid us part, Far as the pole and line, Her dear idea round my heart, Should tenderly entwine. Tho’ mountains, rise, and deserts howl, And oceans roar between; Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, I still would love my Jean. . . . . . . .
Song—Rantin’, Rovin’ Robin1
[Footnote 1: Not published by Burns.] Tune—“Daintie Davie.”
There was a lad was born in Kyle, But whatna day o’ whatna style, I doubt it’s hardly worth the while To be sae nice wi’ Robin. Chor.—Robin was a rovin’ boy, Rantin’, rovin’, rantin’, rovin’, Robin was a rovin’ boy, Rantin’, rovin’, Robin! Our monarch’s hindmost year but ane Was five-and-twenty days begun2, ’Twas then a blast o’ Janwar’ win’ Blew hansel in on Robin. Robin was, &c. [Footnote 2: January 25, 1759, the date of my bardship’s vital existence.—R.B.] The gossip keekit in his loof, Quo’ scho, “Wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae coof: I think we’ll ca’ him Robin.” Robin was, &c. “He’ll hae misfortunes great an’ sma’, But aye a heart aboon them a’, He’ll be a credit till us a’— We’ll a’ be proud o’ Robin.” Robin was, &c. “But sure as three times three mak nine, I see by ilka score and line, This chap will dearly like our kin’, So leeze me on thee! Robin.” Robin was, &c. “Guid faith,” quo’, scho, “I doubt you gar The bonie lasses lie aspar; But twenty fauts ye may hae waur So blessins on thee! Robin.” Robin was, &c.
Elegy On The Death Of Robert Ruisseaux1
Now Robin lies in his last lair, He’ll gabble rhyme, nor sing nae mair; Cauld poverty, wi’ hungry stare, Nae mair shall fear him; Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care, E’er mair come near him. To tell the truth, they seldom fash’d him, Except the moment that they crush’d him; For sune as chance or fate had hush’d ’em Tho’ e’er sae short. Then wi’ a rhyme or sang he lash’d ’em, And thought it sport. [Footnote 1: Ruisseaux is French for rivulets or “burns,” a translation of his name.] Tho’he was bred to kintra-wark, And counted was baith wight and stark, Yet that was never Robin’s mark To mak a man; But tell him, he was learn’d and clark, Ye roos’d him then!