The Burnie

A poem by George MacDonald

The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed
O' nonsense, an' wadna blin
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.

Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway,
An' a Rin, burnie, rin,
That water lap clear frae the dark til the day,
An' singin awa did spin,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.

Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude,
An' she loot a tear fa' in,
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin.

Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin;
Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways
There was but a drap to fa' in,
Sae laith did that burnie rin.

Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin,
Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid,
An' it meltit awa within
The burnie 'at aye did rin.

Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid,
Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin;
It ran an' ran till it left him deid,
An' syne it dried up i' the win':
That burnie nae mair did rin.

Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed
Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin,
Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid,
It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin--
But it tuik that burnie in.

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