 | Poems and songs |  |
113
SONG.
[The sun gaes down the westlin sky]
The sun gaes down the westlin sky,
To take his nap at leisure;
But peerless Jeanie is the sun
That lights my soul to pleasure.
By night, by day, her bonny face,
Aye beets my bosom's fever;
By night, by day, she fills each thought,
An' lingers there for ever.
To take his nap at leisure;
But peerless Jeanie is the sun
That lights my soul to pleasure.
By night, by day, her bonny face,
Aye beets my bosom's fever;
By night, by day, she fills each thought,
An' lingers there for ever.
The rose sae gay, in flowery May,
Wad droop did she come near it;
The lily's hue, whan wet wi' dew,
Her neck can mair than peer it.
The wretch wha pines in sorrow's gloom,
Despair his bosom wringing,
What would he gie to feel like me,
To Jeanie's bosom clinging?
Wad droop did she come near it;
The lily's hue, whan wet wi' dew,
Her neck can mair than peer it.
The wretch wha pines in sorrow's gloom,
Despair his bosom wringing,
What would he gie to feel like me,
To Jeanie's bosom clinging?
| Poems and songs | |