The Country Lass

     In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
     And corn wav’d green in ilka field,
     While claver blooms white o’er the lea
     And roses blaw in ilka beild! 
     Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,
     Says—­“I’ll be wed, come o’t what will”: 
     Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild;
     “O’ gude advisement comes nae ill.

     “It’s ye hae wooers mony ane,
     And lassie, ye’re but young ye ken;
     Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
     A routhie butt, a routhie ben;
     There’s Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
     Fu’ is his barn, fu’ is his byre;
     Take this frae me, my bonie hen,
     It’s plenty beets the luver’s fire.”

     “For Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
     I dinna care a single flie;
     He lo’es sae weel his craps and kye,
     He has nae love to spare for me;
     But blythe’s the blink o’ Robie’s e’e,
     And weel I wat he lo’es me dear: 
     Ae blink o’ him I wad na gie
     For Buskie-glen and a’ his gear.”

     “O thoughtless lassie, life’s a faught;
     The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
     But aye fu’—­han’t is fechtin’ best,
     A hungry care’s an unco care: 
     But some will spend and some will spare,
     An’ wilfu’ folk maun hae their will;
     Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
     Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.”

     “O gear will buy me rigs o’ land,
     And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
     But the tender heart o’ leesome love,
     The gowd and siller canna buy;
     We may be poor—­Robie and I—­
     Light is the burden love lays on;
     Content and love brings peace and joy—­
     What mair hae Queens upon a throne?”

Bessy And Her Spinnin’ Wheel

     O Leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel,
     And leeze me on my rock and reel;
     Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
     And haps me biel and warm at e’en;
     I’ll set me down and sing and spin,
     While laigh descends the simmer sun,
     Blest wi’ content, and milk and meal,
     O leeze me on my spinnin’ wheel.

     On ilka hand the burnies trot,
     And meet below my theekit cot;
     The scented birk and hawthorn white,
     Across the pool their arms unite,
     Alike to screen the birdie’s nest,
     And little fishes’ caller rest;
     The sun blinks kindly in the beil’,
     Where blythe I turn my spinnin’ wheel.

     On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
     And Echo cons the doolfu’ tale;
     The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
     Delighted, rival ither’s lays;
     The craik amang the claver hay,
     The pairtrick whirring o’er the ley,
     The swallow jinkin’ round my shiel,
     Amuse me at my spinnin’ wheel.