Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
377
MY LASSIE'S FAR AWA'.
The setting sun, through crimson clouds,
Shot wide his parting beam,
And tinged wi' gowd a' Cramond woods,
That shade sweet Almond stream,
When loud a swain did thus complain,
Beside the waterfa'—
“Nae joy to me can life now gi'e,
Sin' my dear love's awa'!
Shot wide his parting beam,
And tinged wi' gowd a' Cramond woods,
That shade sweet Almond stream,
When loud a swain did thus complain,
Beside the waterfa'—
“Nae joy to me can life now gi'e,
Sin' my dear love's awa'!
“The vi'let banks, the woodbine bowers,
And water wimplin' clear,
Shed countless charms, while in my arms
I clasp'd my true love dear.
Now a' looks wild that ance gay smiled,
Roun' bonny Craigie-ha';
Ilk birdie's lay to me doth say—
‘Your lassie's far awa'!’
And water wimplin' clear,
Shed countless charms, while in my arms
I clasp'd my true love dear.
Now a' looks wild that ance gay smiled,
Roun' bonny Craigie-ha';
Ilk birdie's lay to me doth say—
‘Your lassie's far awa'!’
“How could she leave her native plains,
Sae rich and fair to view,
And seek for love 'mong westlan' swains,
Than mine, mair warm and true?
Fate's sternest blast hath blawn at last,
And broke my heart in twa;
Now, een and morn, I sigh, lovelorn,
‘My lassie's far awa'.’
Sae rich and fair to view,
And seek for love 'mong westlan' swains,
Than mine, mair warm and true?
Fate's sternest blast hath blawn at last,
And broke my heart in twa;
Now, een and morn, I sigh, lovelorn,
‘My lassie's far awa'.’
“Green spring may bud, gay summer bloom,
And autumn wave in vain,
But ne'er can cheer the darksome gloom
That maun wi' me remain.
Grim winter's storms, in direst forms,
That owre the Pentland's blaw,
Accord now best wi' my sad breast,
Sin' my dear love's awa'.”
And autumn wave in vain,
But ne'er can cheer the darksome gloom
That maun wi' me remain.
Grim winter's storms, in direst forms,
That owre the Pentland's blaw,
Accord now best wi' my sad breast,
Sin' my dear love's awa'.”
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |