 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
3
THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.
Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Gleniffer,
The auld castle's turrets are covered wi' snaw;
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover
Amang the brume bushes by Stanely green shaw;
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree;
But far to the camp they ha'e march'd my dear Johnnie,
And now it is winter wi' Nature and me.
The auld castle's turrets are covered wi' snaw;
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover
Amang the brume bushes by Stanely green shaw;
The wild flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree;
But far to the camp they ha'e march'd my dear Johnnie,
And now it is winter wi' Nature and me.
Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and cheery,
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw;
Now naething is heard but the win' whistlin' dreary,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreadin' snaw.
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie;
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee,
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie:
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me.
Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw;
Now naething is heard but the win' whistlin' dreary,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreadin' snaw.
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie;
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee,
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie:
'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me.
Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain,
And shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae,
While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain,
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me.
'Tis no its loud roar, on the wintry win' swellin',
'Tis no the cauld blast brings the tear to my e'e,
For, oh, gin I saw my bonnie Scots callan,
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
And shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae,
While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain,
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me.
'Tis no its loud roar, on the wintry win' swellin',
'Tis no the cauld blast brings the tear to my e'e,
For, oh, gin I saw my bonnie Scots callan,
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |