Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE BRIDAL PROSPECT. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
107
THE BRIDAL PROSPECT.
The woodcock has left the clear fountains,
The robin's awa' to the woods,
The whaup has come back to the mountains,
And the lav'rock sings blithe 'mang the clouds;
The merle and the mavis are liltin'
In the birken shaw sae gay;
Then haste thee round, blithsome beltan,
For thou art my bridal day!
The robin's awa' to the woods,
The whaup has come back to the mountains,
And the lav'rock sings blithe 'mang the clouds;
The merle and the mavis are liltin'
In the birken shaw sae gay;
Then haste thee round, blithsome beltan,
For thou art my bridal day!
I'll hae a silk gown o' the crimson,
A scarf like the blue o' the sky;
And seldom the sun's thrown a glimpse on
A bride ony brawer than I:
Wi' a Tuscan bonnet sae gaudy,
And feathers as white as the swan,
A' to charm the leal heart o' my laddie,
That day he is made my goodman.
A scarf like the blue o' the sky;
And seldom the sun's thrown a glimpse on
A bride ony brawer than I:
Wi' a Tuscan bonnet sae gaudy,
And feathers as white as the swan,
A' to charm the leal heart o' my laddie,
That day he is made my goodman.
The weaver's got plenty o' yarn now
For tykin', and blankets, and sheets;
Sae I'll look like my faither's ain bairn now,—
Wealth best aye the lowe o' love beets.
A flittin' baith gausy and gaudy,
I weel keen, my folk will gi'e me,
That winna affront my dear laddie,
Whase mailin's weel stocked and free.
For tykin', and blankets, and sheets;
Sae I'll look like my faither's ain bairn now,—
Wealth best aye the lowe o' love beets.
A flittin' baith gausy and gaudy,
I weel keen, my folk will gi'e me,
That winna affront my dear laddie,
Whase mailin's weel stocked and free.
Saxscore we will ha'e at the bridal,
A' blithsome, and bonny, and braw;
But I fear I my joy will can hide ill,
For my heart's like to loup clean awa!
And when in a raw we're marchin'
The bonny burnside alang,
The mavis, on green birks perchin',
Will lilt to the fiddle a sang.
A' blithsome, and bonny, and braw;
But I fear I my joy will can hide ill,
For my heart's like to loup clean awa!
And when in a raw we're marchin'
The bonny burnside alang,
The mavis, on green birks perchin',
Will lilt to the fiddle a sang.
We'll dance and we'll sing till the morning
In the cheery east appear;
And the joyous guests, returning,
Will get, frae the lav'rocks, a cheer.
Then haste thee round, blithesome beltan,
How can ye sae lang delay?
Thy name sets my heart a-meltin',
For thou art my bridal day.
In the cheery east appear;
And the joyous guests, returning,
Will get, frae the lav'rocks, a cheer.
Then haste thee round, blithesome beltan,
How can ye sae lang delay?
Thy name sets my heart a-meltin',
For thou art my bridal day.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |