SONG
[The rose of the morning,—]
1
The rose of the morning,—
Is laden wi' dew;
But the rose o' the evening—
Is sweetest to view:
At the sweet hour o' sunset,
How lovely the gloaming;
To watch the young moon set,—
Wi' a sweet lassie roaming.
2
Then the thistles hangs cobwebs,
The wild brier its dew,
While the bee on the knob-weed—
Looks drowsily too;—
'Tis sweet at the sunset—
O'er the fields to be roaming,
And watch the bright moon set—
Wi' a lassie at gloaming;
3
How lovely the fields look
All beaded wi' dew
Sweet the grass in the bield-newk
Where the wren hides from view
Such scenes have a gem still
I love in the gloaming
On the green sward I would lie still
Or with a lassie be roaming.
4
If she talks very kind too,
How sweet is the weather:
When we both in a mind go;—
Out walking together;
The bird on its nest she,
Will praise, when we're roaming;
The flower I like best she,
Will take home at gloaming.
5
The rose of the morning,
Is laden wi' dew,
But the rose of the evening,
Is sweetest to view:
At the sweet hour o' sunset,—
How sweet in the gloaming;
To watch the young moon set,
Wi' a sweet lassie roaming.
