Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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 | II. |
THE LASS OF TURRIT HA'. |
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| IV. |
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 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
83
THE LASS OF TURRIT HA'.
Amang the hills, the rocky hills,
Where whirrs the moorcock, waves the heather,
Ae bonnie morn, in lightsome June,
I wi' a lassie did forgather.
Her naked feet, amang the grass,
Seem'd dancin' snaw-white lambies twa,
As she gaed singin' through the glen—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Where whirrs the moorcock, waves the heather,
Ae bonnie morn, in lightsome June,
I wi' a lassie did forgather.
Her naked feet, amang the grass,
Seem'd dancin' snaw-white lambies twa,
As she gaed singin' through the glen—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
I stood upon an auld gray stane,
An' follow'd her wi' straining e'e,
As bairnies look on fallin' starns
That o'er the lift glint silentlie.
Her sang, her bonnie mornin' sang,
Upon my heart did thrilling fa';
A thing of light and love was she,
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
An' follow'd her wi' straining e'e,
As bairnies look on fallin' starns
That o'er the lift glint silentlie.
Her sang, her bonnie mornin' sang,
Upon my heart did thrilling fa';
A thing of light and love was she,
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
I met her on the Sabbath-day,
When winds amang the woods were lown—
When o'er the muirs o' gorse an' broom
Came sweet the plaintive chanted tune.
And monie a bonnie quean was there;
But she was fairest o' them a'—
The bonniest tree within the wood—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
When winds amang the woods were lown—
When o'er the muirs o' gorse an' broom
Came sweet the plaintive chanted tune.
And monie a bonnie quean was there;
But she was fairest o' them a'—
The bonniest tree within the wood—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
84
An' when they sang the holy Psalm,
Her voice was sweetest, dearest there—
'Mang a' that gaed to God aboon,
Hers was the purest holy prayer!
I thought the light o' day was gane
When she ayont the kirkyard wa',
By yon burn-brae gaed wanderin hame—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Her voice was sweetest, dearest there—
'Mang a' that gaed to God aboon,
Hers was the purest holy prayer!
I thought the light o' day was gane
When she ayont the kirkyard wa',
By yon burn-brae gaed wanderin hame—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
A' things in earth an' Heaven aboon
Ha'e something worthy to be loved;
But mair than a' I met afore,
That lassie's smile my bosom moved.
The birdie lo'es the summer bush,
The maukin' lo'es the greenwood-shaw;
But nane can tell how weel I lo'ed
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Ha'e something worthy to be loved;
But mair than a' I met afore,
That lassie's smile my bosom moved.
The birdie lo'es the summer bush,
The maukin' lo'es the greenwood-shaw;
But nane can tell how weel I lo'ed
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
The summer bud o' Turrit Glen,
Alas! aneath the mools is laid;
The winds that waved her raven hair
Are cauldly whistlin' o'er her bed,
But, while yon silent moon doth shine—
Sae lang as I ha'e breath to draw—
I'll mind the gem o' youth an' love—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
Alas! aneath the mools is laid;
The winds that waved her raven hair
Are cauldly whistlin' o'er her bed,
But, while yon silent moon doth shine—
Sae lang as I ha'e breath to draw—
I'll mind the gem o' youth an' love—
The bonnie lass of Turrit Ha'!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |