Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. III. The Eighteenth Century: Addison to Blake

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

My Nanie ’s awa

TUNE—‘There ’ll never be peace till Jamie comes Hame.’

NOW in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,

And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er the braes,

While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;

But to me it ’s delightless—my Nanie ’s awa.

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn,

And violets bathe in the weet o’ the morn:

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,

They mind me o’ Nanie—and Nanie ’s awa.

Thou lav’rock that springs frae the dews o’ the lawn,

The shepherd to warn o’ the grey-breaking dawn,

And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa’,

Give over for pity—my Nanie ’s awa.

Come Autumn sae pensive, in yellow and gray,

And soothe me wi’ tidings o’ nature’s decay;

The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw,

Alane can delight me—now Nanie ’s awa.