CLIX.

WHEN JANUAR' WIND.

Tune--"_The lass that made the bed for me._"

[Burns found an old, clever, but not very decorous strain, recording an adventure which Charles the Second, while under Presbyterian rule in Scotland, had with a young lady of the house of Port Letham, and exercising his taste and skill upon it, produced the present--still too free song, for the Museum.]

When Januar' wind was blawing cauld, As to the north I took my way, The mirksome night did me enfauld, I knew na where to lodge till day.

By my good luck a maid I met, Just in the middle o' my care; And kindly she did me invite To walk into a chamber fair.

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, And thank'd her for her courtesie; I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, And bade her mak a bed to me.

She made the bed baith large and wide, Wi' twa white hands she spread it down; She put the cup to her rosy lips, And drank, "Young man, now sleep ye soun'."

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, And frae my chamber went wi' speed; But I call'd her quickly back again To lay some mair below my head.

A cod she laid below my head, And served me wi' due respect; And to salute her wi' a kiss, I put my arms about her neck.

"Haud aff your hands, young man," she says, "And dinna sae uncivil be: If ye hae onto love for me, O wrang na my virginitie!"

Her hair was like the links o' gowd, Her teeth were like the ivorie; Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine, The lass that made the bed to me.

Her bosom was the driven snaw, Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, The lass that made the bed to me.

I kiss'd her owre and owre again, And ay she wist na what to say; I laid her between me and the wa'-- The lassie thought na lang till day.

Upon the morrow when we rose, I thank'd her for her courtesie; But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd, And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me."

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne, While the tear stood twinklin' in her e'e; I said, "My lassie, dinna cry, For ye ay shall mak the bed to me."

She took her mither's Holland sheets, And made them a' in sarks to me: Blythe and merry may she be, The lass that made the bed to me.

The bonnie lass made the bed to me, The braw lass made the bed to me: I'll ne'er forget till the day I die, The lass that made the bed to me!

* * * * *

SAE FAR AWA.

Tune--"_Dalkeith Maiden Bridge._"

[This song was sent to the Museum by Burns, in his own handwriting.]