Ha'e ye seen.
[The author of this fine song is generally said to be Robert Burns, Junior, eldest son of the poet, who for many years held a respectable but by no means a lucrative situation as clerk in the Stamp Office, at Somerset House, London. We know not where the song first appeared.]
Ha'e ye seen, in the calm dewy morning,
The red-breast wild warbling sae clear;
Or the low-dwelling, snow-breasted gowan,
Surcharg'd wi' mild e'ening's soft tear?
O, then ye ha'e seen my dear lassie,
The lassie I lo'e best of a';
But far frae the hame o' my lassie,
I'm mony a lang mile awa'.
Her hair is the wing o' the blackbird,
Her eye is the eye o' the dove,
Her lips are the ripe blushing rose-bud,
Her bosom's the palace of love.
Though green be thy banks, sweet Clutha!
Thy beauties ne'er charm me ava;
Forgive me, ye maids o' sweet Clutha,
My heart is wi' her that's awa'.
O love, thou'rt a dear fleeting pleasure!
The sweetest we mortals here know;
But soon is thy heav'n, bright beaming,
O'ercast with the darkness of woe.
As the moon, on the oft-changing ocean,
Delights the lone mariner's eye,
Till red rush the storms of the desert,
And dark billows tumble on high.