Letter from Robert Burns to John McMurdo
Sir,
I believe last night that my old enemy, the
Devil, taking the advantage of my being in drink,
(he well knows he has no chance with me in my
sober hours) tempted me to be a little turbulent -
You have too much humanity to heed the manic
ravings of a poor wretch whom the powers of Hell,
& the potency of Port, beset at the same time. -
In the meantime, allow me to present you
with the following Song which I have hammered
out this morning.
I am ever.
your poetical humble serv.t RB
Song -
Lang here awa, there awa wandering Willie
Now tired wi' wandering haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom my ae only Dearie
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same-
Loud blew the cauld winter wind at our parting,
But 'twas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e.
I believe last night that my old enemy, the
Devil, taking the advantage of my being in drink,
(he well knows he has no chance with me in my
sober hours) tempted me to be a little turbulent -
You have too much humanity to heed the manic
ravings of a poor wretch whom the powers of Hell,
& the potency of Port, beset at the same time. -
In the meantime, allow me to present you
with the following Song which I have hammered
out this morning.
I am ever.
your poetical humble serv.t RB
Song -
Lang here awa, there awa wandering Willie
Now tired wi' wandering haud awa hame;
Come to my bosom my ae only Dearie
And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same-
Loud blew the cauld winter wind at our parting,
But 'twas na the blast brought the tear in my e'e.
Now welcome the simmer, & welcome in Willie,
The simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.
Ye hurricanes rest in the oave o' your slumbers,
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms
Awauken, ye breezes; row gently, ye billows;
And bring waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms,
But if he's forgotten his faithfulness Nanie,
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main:
May I never hear it, may I never trow it,
But dying believe that my Willie's my ain.
The simmer to Nature, my Willie to me.
Ye hurricanes rest in the oave o' your slumbers,
O how your wild horrors a lover alarms
Awauken, ye breezes; row gently, ye billows;
And bring waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms,
But if he's forgotten his faithfulness Nanie,
O still flow between us, thou wide roaring main:
May I never hear it, may I never trow it,
But dying believe that my Willie's my ain.

Key details
- Archive number
- NTS/02/25/BRN/01/39
- Alt. number
- 3.6066
- Date
- 1793
- On display
- No
- Creator
- Burns, Robert (Author)
Archive information
Themes
Hierarchy
-
Letters from and to Robert Burns
(
a sub-fonds is a subdivision in the archival material)
- Letter from Robert Burns to John McMurdo