Classic Poem

Gin , I was plac'd on yonder muir,
In my ain cott, from storms secure;
My arms around my bonny lass,
How quick the wint'ry hours would pass.

Gin, I could call this field my ain,
And count the herds upon that plain;
Or, till yon ground, with mickle glee,
How blithe the Summer-months would be.

Yet, as my pray'rs are sai' deny'd,
Save, the blithe lassie by my side;
Let me, e'en spurn this giddy Ba'
And swear my Jean is worth it a'!