Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

385 . Song—Auld Rob Morris

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.

She’s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May;

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.

But oh! she’s an Heiress, auld Robin’s a laird,

And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard;

A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,

The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead.

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,

And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast.

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.