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Translation
Index


My Nanie, O

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation

1.
Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, O.
2.
The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill,
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.
3.
My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nanie, O!
4.
Her face is fair, her heart is true;
As spotless as she's bonie, O,
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
5.
A country lad is my degree,
An' few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be?
I'm welcome ay to Nanie, O.
6.
My riches a's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' - my Nanie, O.
7.
Our auld guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nanie, O.
8.
Come weel, come woe, I care na by;
I'll tak what Heav'n will send me, O:
Nae ither care in life have I,
But live, an' love my Nanie, O.


Behind those hills where Stinchar flows
Among moors and mosses (bogs) many, O,
The wintry sun the day has closed,
And I will away to Nanie, O.

The western wind blows loud and shrill,
The night is both dark and rainy, O;
But I will get my plaid, and out I will steal,
And over the hill to Nanie, O.

My Nanie's charming, sweet, and young;
No artful wiles to win you, O:
May ill befall the flattering tongue
That would beguile my Nanie, O!

Her face is fair, her heart is true;
As spotless as she is lovely, O,
The opening daisy, wet with dew,
No purer is than Nanie, O.

A country lad is my degree,
And few there be that know me, O;
But what care I how few they be?
I am welcome always to Nanie, O.

My riches all is my penny-fee,
And I must manage it carefully, O;
But worlds wealth never troubles me,
My thoughts are all - my Nanie, O.

Our old farmer delights to view
His sheep and cattle thrive well, O;
But I am as blythe that holds his plough,
And has no care but Nanie, O.

Come well, come woe, I do not care;
I will take what Heaven will send me, O:
No other care in life have I,
But live, and love my Nanie, O.

 

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