Classic Poem

Whaur gowden whin adorns the hill,
An' hawthorn blossoms scent the vale,
Whaur, by the gurglin' mountain rill,
Grow bell sae blue an' primrose pale;
Yestreen I wandered a' my lane,
Doun by Glencorse and Woodhouselee,
And I'll be there this night again,
Glencorse's Shepherd Queen to see.
O blythe, blythe, an' merry is she,
Licht o' heart an' bricht o' ee;
But, Sandy, lad, ye've tint sweet Maud,
She's plichted heart an' hand to me.

I met her on a sunny knowe,
Her face shone like the glowing west,
And by her side a fleecy ewe,
Wi' twa pet lammies at its breast.
I kenn'd that ye were far awa,
An' modestly I raised my ee,
Syne on my pipe began to blaw,
And sune she lent her ear to me.
Blythe, &e.

I hinted o' your auld grey pow,
And sang your sang; “Te hee!” quo' she
“He tells na how, outower the knowe,
I laid him backflaught on the lea;
Nor how his braw brown wig flew aff,
Nor how I stood wi' head ajee,
Till my auld faither, wi' a laugh,
Cried, ‘Come nae mair to Woodhouselee.’”
Blythe, &c.

Sae send nae mair sic lays o' luve,
In hope a Pentland lass to gain,
But daunder down to Kelvin Grove,
There's routh o' lassies fair an' fain.
And gin again ye'll venture east,
The caller mountain air to pree,
We'll hae ye at our weddin' feast;
Ye'll aiblins stand best man to me.
Blythe, &c.