 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle |  |
173
VI. COME AWA, COME AWA!
Come awa, come awa,
An' o'er the march wi' me, lassie:
Leave your Southron wooers a',
My winsome bride to be, lassie.
Lands nor gear I proffer you,
Nor gauds to busk ye fine, lassie,
But I've a heart that's leal an' true,
And a' that heart is thine, lassie.
An' o'er the march wi' me, lassie:
Leave your Southron wooers a',
My winsome bride to be, lassie.
Lands nor gear I proffer you,
Nor gauds to busk ye fine, lassie,
But I've a heart that's leal an' true,
And a' that heart is thine, lassie.
Come awa, come awa,
An' see the kindly North, lassie,
Out o'er the peaks o' Lammerlaw,
An' by the links o' Forth, lassie;
And when we tread the heather bell
Aboon Demayat lea, lassie,
You'll view the land o' flood and fell—
The noble North Countrie, lassie!
An' see the kindly North, lassie,
Out o'er the peaks o' Lammerlaw,
An' by the links o' Forth, lassie;
And when we tread the heather bell
Aboon Demayat lea, lassie,
You'll view the land o' flood and fell—
The noble North Countrie, lassie!
Come awa, come awa,
An' leave your Southland hame, lassie;
The kirk is near, the ring is here—
An' I'm your Donald Græme, lassie,
Rock and reel and spinning wheel,
And English cottage trig, lassie,
Haste, leave them a', wi' me to speel
The braes 'yont Stirling brig, lassie.
An' leave your Southland hame, lassie;
The kirk is near, the ring is here—
An' I'm your Donald Græme, lassie,
Rock and reel and spinning wheel,
And English cottage trig, lassie,
Haste, leave them a', wi' me to speel
The braes 'yont Stirling brig, lassie.
174
Come awa, come awa,
I ken your heart is mine, lassie,
And true luve sall make up for a'
For whilk ye might repine, lassie.
Your father—he has gien consent,
Your step-dame looks na kind, lassie—
Oh, that our foot were on the bent,
An' the Lowlands far behind, lassie!
I ken your heart is mine, lassie,
And true luve sall make up for a'
For whilk ye might repine, lassie.
Your father—he has gien consent,
Your step-dame looks na kind, lassie—
Oh, that our foot were on the bent,
An' the Lowlands far behind, lassie!
Come awa, come awa!
Ye'll ne'er hae cause to rue, lassie;
My cot blinks blithe beneath the shaw,
My bonny Avondhu, lassie:
There's birk and slae on ilka brae,
And brakens waving fair, lassie;
And gleaming lochs and mountains grey—
Can aught wi' them compare, lassie!
Come awa, come awa, &c.
Ye'll ne'er hae cause to rue, lassie;
My cot blinks blithe beneath the shaw,
My bonny Avondhu, lassie:
There's birk and slae on ilka brae,
And brakens waving fair, lassie;
And gleaming lochs and mountains grey—
Can aught wi' them compare, lassie!
Come awa, come awa, &c.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Pringle | |