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‹‹‹ prev (118) Page 102Page 102Where are the joys I have met in the morning

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(119) Page 103 -
WHERE ARE THE JOYS
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The last stanza may be omitted.
No more a-winding the course of yon river,
And marking sweet flow'rets so fair ;
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure,
But sorrow and sad sighing care.
Is it that summer's forsaken our Tallies,
And grim surly winter is near ?
No, no ; the bees humming round the gay roses,
Proclaim it the pride of the year.
Fain would I hide what I fear to discover,
Yet long, long too well have I known
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
Is Jenny, fair Jenny, alone.
[Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow ;
Come then, enamour'd, and fond of my anguish,
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe.]
" Where are the joys I have met dj the morning ?" The air, " Saw ye my father ?" does not appear in any
very early musical publication. The old words first appeared in Herd's Collection, 1769. In a letter written in
September 1793, to Mr. George Thomson, Burns expresses himself thus : — " ' Saw ye my father ' is one of my
greatest favourites. The evening before last, I wandered out, and began a tender song, in what I think is its
native style. I must premise that the old way, and the way to give most effect, is to have no starting-note, as the
fiddlers call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings, ' Saw ye my father,' " &c.
We have adopted this song of Burns' in the present work, and subjoin the old verses for those who may prefer
them.
Saw ye my father, or saw ye my mither,
Or saw ye my true love John ?
I saw nae your father, I saw nae your mither,
But I saw your true love John.
It's now ten at night, an' the stars gi'e nae light,
An' the bells they ring ding-dang,
He's met wi' some delay that causes him to stay,
But he will be here ere lang.
The 9urly auld carle did naething but snarl,
An' Johnny's face it grew red,
Yet tho' he often sigh'd, he ne'er a word replied,
Till a' were asleep in bed.
Then up Johnny rose, an' to the door he goes,
An' gently tirl'd at the pin,
The lassie takin' tent, unto the door she went,
An' she open'd an' lat him in.
An' are ye come at last ! an' do I hold you fast !
An' is my Johnny true !
I have nae time to tell, but sae lang's I like myse^
Sae lang sail I like you.
Flee up, flee up, my bonnie grey cock,
An' craw when it is day ;
An' your neck shall be like the bonnie beaten gold,
An' your wings of the silver grey.
The cock proved false, an' untrue he was,
For he crew an hour owre soon :
The lassie thocht it day when she sent her love away,
An' it was but a blink o' the moon.

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