Classic Poem

L ANGSYNE , beside the woodland burn,
Amang the broom sae yellow,
I lean'd me 'neath the milk-white thorn,
On Nature's mossy pillow;
A' 'round my seat the flow'rs were strew'd,
That frae the wild wood I had pu'd,
To weave mysel' a summer snood,
To pleasure my dear fellow.

I twin'd the woodbine round the rose,
Its richer hues to mellow,
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose,
To busk the sedge sae yellow.
The crow-flow'r blue, and meadow-pink,
I wove in primrose-braided link,
But little, little did I think
I should have wove the willow.

My bonnie lad was forc'd afar,
Tost on the raging billow,
Perhaps he's fa'en in bloody war,
Or wreck'd on rocky shallow.
Yet aye I hope for his return,
As round our wonted haunts I mourn,
And often by the woodland burn
I pu' the weeping willow.