IV.
The pathless wild, and wimpling burn,
Wi’ Chloris in my arms, be mine;
And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn,
Its joys and griefs alike resign.
CCLVIII.
FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR.
Tune—“Let me in this ae night.”
[“How do you like the foregoing?” Burns asks Thomson, after having copies this song for his collection. “I have written it within this hour: so much for the speed of my Pegasus: but what say you to his bottom?”]
I.
Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee, I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe
At which I most repine, love.
O wert thou, love, but near me;
But near, near, near me;
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love
II.