The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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The Sheep Shearing.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
The Sheep Shearing.
The morning was fair, and the firmament sheen;
The valley was fresh, and the mountain was green,
When bonnie young Jean, of our maidens the queen,
Went over the dale to the shearing.
Her form was so fair, it was rather divine;
The rose-leaf and lily her features entwine;
Her lip was the clover-flower moistened with wine;
Her manner was sweet and endearing.
The valley was fresh, and the mountain was green,
When bonnie young Jean, of our maidens the queen,
Went over the dale to the shearing.
Her form was so fair, it was rather divine;
The rose-leaf and lily her features entwine;
Her lip was the clover-flower moistened with wine;
Her manner was sweet and endearing.
Her voice was the music, so tuneful and true;
Her hair was the sun-beam; her eye was the dew,
The mirror where love did his image review,
And smile at the shadow so pleasing.
The knight, who was there at the shearing the ewe
Says, “Farmer, your daughter's a beautiful rose:”
Then up to Miss Jeanie he instantly goes,
And kiss'd her and aye would be teasing.
Her hair was the sun-beam; her eye was the dew,
The mirror where love did his image review,
And smile at the shadow so pleasing.
The knight, who was there at the shearing the ewe
Says, “Farmer, your daughter's a beautiful rose:”
Then up to Miss Jeanie he instantly goes,
And kiss'd her and aye would be teasing.
He led her, and toy'd with her all the long day,
And gave her a ring set with jewels so gay:
“Oh! meet me, my dear,” he would pressingly say,
“This night in the bower by the river.”
“I'll ask at my father,” young Jeanie replies;
“I fain would be with you; but if he denies”—
“Ah! pray do not tell him,” said he, with surprise,
“And I'll love you, my Jeanie, for ever.”
And gave her a ring set with jewels so gay:
“Oh! meet me, my dear,” he would pressingly say,
“This night in the bower by the river.”
“I'll ask at my father,” young Jeanie replies;
“I fain would be with you; but if he denies”—
“Ah! pray do not tell him,” said he, with surprise,
“And I'll love you, my Jeanie, for ever.”
“But what, my dear sir, are you wanting with me?
I'll never do aught but my father may see;
He'll never refuse to intrust me with thee
From evening till dawn of the morning.”
She cries—“My dear father, the knight and your Jean
This night are to meet in the woodland so green,
To kiss and to prattle by mortal unseen,
From evening till dawn of the morning.”
I'll never do aught but my father may see;
He'll never refuse to intrust me with thee
From evening till dawn of the morning.”
She cries—“My dear father, the knight and your Jean
This night are to meet in the woodland so green,
To kiss and to prattle by mortal unseen,
From evening till dawn of the morning.”
The knight was abashed, and the farmer look'd sour;
“He mocks you, my jewel, go not to the bower.”
“Then, sir, I am sorry 'tis out of my power
To meet you this night by the river.
I'll always be proud of your gay company,
When my father permits I will wait upon thee.”
Then light as a lamb she skipp'd over the lea,
And left the poor knight in a fever.
“He mocks you, my jewel, go not to the bower.”
“Then, sir, I am sorry 'tis out of my power
To meet you this night by the river.
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When my father permits I will wait upon thee.”
Then light as a lamb she skipp'd over the lea,
And left the poor knight in a fever.
“I ne'er saw a creature so lovely and sly;
Confound me, if ever I saw such an eye!
But every contrivance in life I will try
To catch her alone by the river.”
But all was in vain, she evaded him still,
Yet always received him with kindest good-will;
And now she's the lady of Merleton-hill,
And lovely and loving as ever.
Confound me, if ever I saw such an eye!
But every contrivance in life I will try
To catch her alone by the river.”
But all was in vain, she evaded him still,
Yet always received him with kindest good-will;
And now she's the lady of Merleton-hill,
And lovely and loving as ever.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |