Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle Edited by Alexander Rodger |
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'TWAS MORN. |
 | Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle |  |
176
'TWAS MORN.
'Twas morn—and the lambs on the green hillocks played,
The laverock sung sweetly on high,
The dew-draps bespangled ilk green spiky blade,
And the woods rang wi' music and joy;
When young Patie down the vale
Met fair Kitty wi' her pail,
He clasp'd her hand and blythely speered,
‘Dear lassie, where to now?’
‘A wee bit down the glen,’ quo' she,
‘To milk our bruckit cow.’
The laverock sung sweetly on high,
The dew-draps bespangled ilk green spiky blade,
And the woods rang wi' music and joy;
When young Patie down the vale
Met fair Kitty wi' her pail,
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‘Dear lassie, where to now?’
‘A wee bit down the glen,’ quo' she,
‘To milk our bruckit cow.’
‘O Kitty! I've lo'ed you this towmond an' mair,
And wha lo'es na you canna see,
There's nane on our plains half sae lovely and fair,—
No; nane half sae lovely to me:
Will you come, dear lass, at e'en,
Up the burnie's bank sae green?
And there beneath the beechen shade,
You'll meet a lover true.’
‘Na, na,’ she cried, ‘I canna come
At e'en to meet wi’ you.
And wha lo'es na you canna see,
There's nane on our plains half sae lovely and fair,—
No; nane half sae lovely to me:
Will you come, dear lass, at e'en,
Up the burnie's bank sae green?
And there beneath the beechen shade,
You'll meet a lover true.’
‘Na, na,’ she cried, ‘I canna come
At e'en to meet wi’ you.
‘My mither will flyte, and my father will ban,
Gin here meikle langer I stay;
Come cease wi' your daffiin, and let gae my han’,
It's daft like at this time o' day.’
‘Dearest lassie, ere ye gang,
Tell me, shall we meet ere lang?
Come, say't and seal't wi' ae sweet smack
O' that enticing mou';’
‘Haud aff,’ she cried, ‘nor think that I
Was made for sport to you.’
Gin here meikle langer I stay;
Come cease wi' your daffiin, and let gae my han’,
It's daft like at this time o' day.’
‘Dearest lassie, ere ye gang,
Tell me, shall we meet ere lang?
Come, say't and seal't wi' ae sweet smack
O' that enticing mou';’
‘Haud aff,’ she cried, ‘nor think that I
Was made for sport to you.’
‘Then, farewell, proud lassie, for since ye're sae shy,
Nae langer I'll press you to bide;
E'en show aff your airs, toss your head and look high,
Your beauty demands a' your pride;
I may find some ither where,
Ane mair kind, although less fair.’
He turned to gang—she laughing cried,
‘Stop, lad, I've ta'en the rue,
Come back and set the tryst wi' me,
And I will meet wi' you.’
Nae langer I'll press you to bide;
E'en show aff your airs, toss your head and look high,
Your beauty demands a' your pride;
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Ane mair kind, although less fair.’
He turned to gang—she laughing cried,
‘Stop, lad, I've ta'en the rue,
Come back and set the tryst wi' me,
And I will meet wi' you.’
| Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle | |