 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
LANGSYNE, BESIDE THE WOODLAND BURN.
Langsyne, beside the woodland burn,
Amang the broom sae yellow,
I lean'd me 'neath the milk-white thorn,
On Nature's mossy pillow:
A' round my seat the flowers were strew'd,
That frae the wild-wood I had pu'd
To weave mysel' a summer snood
To pleasure my dear fellow.
Amang the broom sae yellow,
I lean'd me 'neath the milk-white thorn,
On Nature's mossy pillow:
A' round my seat the flowers were strew'd,
That frae the wild-wood I had pu'd
To weave mysel' a summer snood
To pleasure my dear fellow.
I twin'd the woodbine round the rose,
Its richer hues to mellow,
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose,
To busk the sedge sae yellow;
The craw-flower blue, and meadow-pink,
I wove in primrose-braided link,
But little, little did I think
I should have wove the willow.
Its richer hues to mellow,
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose,
To busk the sedge sae yellow;
The craw-flower blue, and meadow-pink,
I wove in primrose-braided link,
But little, little did I think
I should have wove the willow.
My bonnie lad was forced afar,
Tost on the raging billow;
Perhaps he 's fa'en in bloody war,
Or wreck'd on rocky shallow:
Yet aye I hope for his return,
As round our wonted haunts I mourn,
And often by the woodland burn
I pu' the weeping willow.
Tost on the raging billow;
Perhaps he 's fa'en in bloody war,
Or wreck'd on rocky shallow:
Yet aye I hope for his return,
As round our wonted haunts I mourn,
And often by the woodland burn
I pu' the weeping willow.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |