Menie

Menie.

[Written by Burns, to the tune of "Johnnie's Grey Breeks." The chorus was the composition of a gentleman in Edinburgh, a friend of the poet's. It has been generally condemned as an absurd chorus—and certainly is not very appropriate to the song—but still we think it is a good natural verse for all that. "Menie" is the abbreviation of the name "Mariamne."]

Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk, And winna let a bodie be. In vain to me the cowslips blaw; In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. The merry ploughboy cheers his team; Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. The wanton coot the water skims; Amang the reeds the ducklings cry; The stately swan majestic swims; And every thing is blest but I. The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps, And o'er the moorland whistles shrill; Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, I meet him on the dewy hill. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on fluttering wings, A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide. Come, winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree; Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk, And winna let a bodie be.