A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf,
     And thretty gude shillin’s and three;
     A vera gude tocher, a cotter-man’s dochter,
     The lass wi’ the bonie black e’e. 
     The lang lad, &c.

Talk Of Him That’s Far Awa

     Musing on the roaring ocean,
     Which divides my love and me;
     Wearying heav’n in warm devotion,
     For his weal where’er he be.

     Hope and Fear’s alternate billow
     Yielding late to Nature’s law,
     Whispering spirits round my pillow,
     Talk of him that’s far awa.

     Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
     Ye who never shed a tear,
     Care—­untroubled, joy—­surrounded,
     Gaudy day to you is dear.

     Gentle night, do thou befriend me,
     Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
     Spirits kind, again attend me,
     Talk of him that’s far awa!

To Daunton Me

     The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw,
     The simmer lilies bloom in snaw,
     The frost may freeze the deepest sea;
     But an auld man shall never daunton me. 
     Refrain.—­To daunton me, to daunton me,
     And auld man shall never daunton me.

     To daunton me, and me sae young,
     Wi’ his fause heart and flatt’ring tongue,
     That is the thing you shall never see,
     For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
     To daunton me, &c.

     For a’ his meal and a’ his maut,
     For a’ his fresh beef and his saut,
     For a’ his gold and white monie,
     And auld men shall never daunton me. 
     To daunton me, &c.

     His gear may buy him kye and yowes,
     His gear may buy him glens and knowes;
     But me he shall not buy nor fee,
     For an auld man shall never daunton me. 
     To daunton me, &c.

     He hirples twa fauld as he dow,
     Wi’ his teethless gab and his auld beld pow,
     And the rain rains down frae his red blear’d e’e;
     That auld man shall never daunton me. 
     To daunton me, &c.

The Winter It Is Past

     The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last
     And the small birds, they sing on ev’ry tree;
     Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
     Since my true love is parted from me.

     The rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
     May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
     Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
     But my true love is parted from me.

The Bonie Lad That’s Far Awa

     O how can I be blythe and glad,
     Or how can I gang brisk and braw,
     When the bonie lad that I lo’e best
     Is o’er the hills and far awa!

     It’s no the frosty winter wind,
     It’s no the driving drift and snaw;
     But aye the tear comes in my e’e,
     To think on him that’s far awa.