THE BALLAD OF RABBIE BURNS - damowords
THE BALLAD OF RABBIE BURNS - damowords
THE BALLAD OF RABBIE BURNS - damowords
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Down flow’d her robe, a tartan sheen<br />
Til half a leg was scrimly seen<br />
& such a leg, his bonnie Jean<br />
Could only peer it<br />
Sae straight, sae taper, ticht & clean<br />
None else came near it<br />
Said Colia, “Hail thee, mine own bard,<br />
In me they native muse regard<br />
No longer mourn thy fate is hard<br />
Thus poorly low<br />
I come to give thee such regard<br />
As gods bestow!<br />
My boy, wear this!” she solemn said<br />
& bound a holly round his head<br />
The polish’d leaves & berries red<br />
Did rustling play<br />
As like a passing thought, she fled<br />
In light away<br />
As rubbers Rabbie rarely used<br />
Jean’s bump her da’ soon unamused<br />
Whose brulzie face point blank refused<br />
Jean for a wife<br />
Rab left the Armour’s most confused<br />
In all his life<br />
He had to nurse his broken heart<br />
By heaping up the harvest cart<br />
& saw his sharp plough rip apart<br />
Some nested house<br />
Where, on the spot, a rhyme did start<br />
For this wee mouse
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