Poem by Robert Burns

* * *

ONE night as I did wander,
  When corn begins to shoot,
I sat me down to ponder,
  Upon an auld tree root:

Auld Ayr ran by before me,
  And bicker’d to the seas;
A cushat crooded o’er me
  That echoed thro’ the braes.

1. It Is Na, Jean, Thy Bonnie Face
2. Farewell, Thou Stream
3. Sleep’st Thou, or Wak’st Thou
4. Eppie M’Nab
5. Mark Yonder Pomp

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