Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 385. Song—Auld Rob Morris |
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| THERE’S Auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, | |
| He’s the King o’ gude fellows, and wale o’ auld men; | |
| He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, | |
| And ae bonie lass, his dautie and mine. | |
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| She’s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; | 5 |
| She’s sweet as the ev’ning amang the new hay; | |
| As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, | |
| And dear to my heart as the light to my e’e. | |
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| But oh! she’s an Heiress, auld Robin’s a laird, | |
| And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; | 10 |
| A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, | |
| The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. | |
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| The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; | |
| The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; | |
| I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, | 15 |
| And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. | |
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| O had she but been of a lower degree, | |
| I then might hae hop’d she wad smil’d upon me! | |
| O how past descriving had then been my bliss, | |
| As now my distraction nae words can express. | 20 |
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