Weekly Interlinear Poem





This is the poem
for the week of September 7.
A new interlinear poem
is available each Monday.

Send me e-mail - robert15115@gmail.com
Robert Jackson

Logan Braes

-Robert Burns



O Logan, sweetly did you glide
Logan=river in Scotland
That day I was my Willie's bride,
And years since then have o'er us run
Like Logan to the summer sun,
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
drumlie=dull
While my dear lad must face his faes
faes=foes
Far, far from me and Logan braes.
braes=hillsides

Again the merry month of May
Has made our hills and valleys gay.
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum 'round the breathing flowers.
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening tears are tears of joy.
My soul delightless all surveys,
While Willie's far from Logan braes.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush
Among her nestlings sits the thrush.
Her faithful mate will share her toil,
Or with his song her cares beguile.
But I with my sweet nurslings here,
nurslings=babies
No mate to help, no mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far from Logan braes.

O, woe upon you, men of state,
That brethren rouse in deadly hate!
As you make many a fond heart mourn,
So may it on your heads return!
You mind not 'mid your cruel joys
'mid=amid
The widow's tears, the orphan's cries,
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie home to Logan braes!

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide
That day I was my Willie's bride,
And years sin syne have o'er us run
Like Logan to the summer sun.
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad must face his faes
Far, far from me and Logan braes.

Again the merry month of May
Has made our hills and valleys gay.
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers.
Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
And evening tears are tears of joy.
My soul delightless all surveys,
While Willie's far from Logan braes.

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush
Among her nestlings sits the thrush.
Her faithful mate will share her toil,
Or with his song her cares beguile.
But I with my sweet nurslings here,
No mate to help, no mate to cheer,
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days,
While Willie's far from Logan braes.

O, woe upon you, men of state,
That brethren rouse in deadly hate!
As you make many a fond heart mourn,
So may it on your heads return!
You mind not 'mid your cruel joys
The widow's tears, the orphan's cries,
But soon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie home to Logan braes!