Classic Poem

The girl of my love
is the brown-haired young lass;
were you by my side
I would not be sad;
the girl of my love
is the brown-haired young lass.

'Tis Mary MacNaughton
has the handsomest presence;
I appraised you as highly
as any alive.
The girl of my love, &c.

As I gaze on your face,
and look forward to winning you,
I'd be glad if I might be
near you at all times.

Since you gave me a promise,
you have nought to repent of:
none will see you next year
as a milker of cows.

You'll not go to the fold
to milk white-shouldered cattle,
nor wear a skin brogue,
for your shoe will be smart.

The fetter and milk-pail
would not suffice for my lass;
non will it be heard that
you were handling a cogue.

You'll not go to Badour
for the milking of goats
whose kidling followers
receive suck round the fold.

I'll not let you go to the hill
to bring the cows from the pasture,
for fear that the lads
will be seeking your kisses.

You'll take to none of the gentry,
nor care for the herdsman,
and a stranger gains nothing
by pursuing you hard.

To no man is she partial
for fear she should vex me;
and no woman will please me
but she, if she will.

'Tis the queen of the village
whom I constantly think of;
were it she who went with me
no wealth would I ask.

I'll take you to Edinburgh
to learn English speech,
and not leave you drudging,
tending the great man's kine.

No ill report would I credit
of you, maid of rich tresses;
ever since I paid court to you,
I mislike not your style.

This increased my love for you,
that you grew up so joyous,
and ever would spring up
as light as the birds.

She is the sweet charmer
I would take up for choice,
did I visit the house
where drinking goes on.

'Twere a favour to gentry
when cups are being drained,
if you sang waulking songs
to them at their stoup.

You bear the palm at the dancing,
with the fiddle in jig time,
and the dram on the table—
then cheery you were.

You'd keep time with precision
to the chanter and reed,
that would fluently render
galloping tunes.

'Tis you would raise my spirits
when you are in merry mood,
with your tuneful carols,
and the charm of your lips.

Such a fancy I took to you,
morning and evening,
that I would have sport with you
and fondling enow.

I would caress you
year in and year out;
more likely than lack of it,
would be more than is meet.