CLII
O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea,
We’ll o’er the water to Charlie!
Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go,
And live and die wi’ Charlie.
Come, boat me o’er, come row me o’er,
Come boat me o’er to Charlie!
I’ll gie John Ross another bawbee
To boat me o’er to Charlie.
I lo’e weel my Charlie’s name,
Though some there be abhor him;
But, O! to see Auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie’s foes before him!
I swear and vow by moon and stars
And sun that shines so early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I’d die as aft for Charlie!
We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea,
We’ll o’er the water to Charlie!
Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go,
And live and die wi’ Charlie!
Robert Burns.
CLIII
A SONG OF EXILE Frae the friends and land I love
Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite,
Frae my best belov’d I rove,
Never mair to taste delight!
Never mair maun hope to find
Ease frae toil, relief frae care.
When remembrance wracks the mind,
Pleasures but unveil despair.
Brightest climes shall mirk appear,
Desert ilka blooming shore,
Till the Fates, nae mair severe,
Friendship, love, and peace restore;
Till Revenge with laurell’d head
Bring our banish’d hame again,
And ilk loyal, bonnie lad
Cross the seas, and win his ain!
Robert Burns. CLIV
KENMURE’S MARCH
O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie,
O, Kenmure’s on and awa!
An’ Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw!
Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie,
Success to Kenmure’s band!
There’s no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure’s hand.
Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie,
Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine!
There ne’er was a coward o’ Kenmure’s blude,
Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line.
O, Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie,
O, Kenmure’s lads are men!
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.
They’ll live or die wi’ fame, Willie,
They’ll live or die wi’ fame!
But soon wi’ sounding Victorie
May Kenmure’s lord come hame!
Here’s him that’s far awa, Willie,
Here’s him that’s far awa!
And here’s the flower that I lo’e best—
The rose that’s like the sna!
Robert Burns. CLV
A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king,
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear—
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 fareweel,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear—
For I maun cross the main.
He turn’d him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore,
And gae his bridle reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear—
And adieu for evermore!
The soger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main,
But I hae parted frae my love
Never to meet again,
My dear—
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a’ folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that’s far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear—
The lee-lang night and weep.
Robert Burns.
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