“O curst be the day, and unchancy the hour,
      When I sat me adown to the spinnin’ o’t! 
    Then some evil spirit or warlock had power,
      And made sic an ill beginnin’ o’t. 
    May Spunkie my feet to the boggie betray,
    The lunzie folk steal my new kirtle away,
    And Robin forsake me for douce Effie Gray,
      The next time I try the spinnin’ o’t.”

[32] “The Wee Pickle Tow” is an old air, to which the words of this song were written.

THE GOWAN GLITTERS ON THE SWARD.

    The gowan glitters on the sward,
      The lav’rock’s in the sky,
    And collie on my plaid keeps ward,
      And time is passing by. 
        Oh, no! sad and slow,
      And lengthen’d on the ground;
        The shadow of our trysting bush
      It wears so slowly round.

    My sheep-bells tinkle frae the west,
      My lambs are bleating near;
    But still the sound that I lo’e best,
      Alack!  I canna hear. 
        Oh, no! sad and slow,
      The shadow lingers still;
        And like a lanely ghaist I stand,
      And croon upon the hill.

    I hear below the water roar,
      The mill wi’ clacking din,
    And lucky scolding frae the door,
      To ca’ the bairnies in. 
        Oh, no! sad and slow,
      These are nae sounds for me;
        The shadow of our trysting bush
      It creeps sae drearily!

    I coft yestreen, frae chapman Tam,
      A snood o’ bonnie blue,
    And promised, when our trysting cam’,
      To tie it round her brow. 
        Oh, no! sad and slow,
      The mark it winna pass;
        The shadow o’ that dreary bush
      Is tether’d on the grass.

    O now I see her on the way! 
      She ’s past the witch’s knowe;
    She ’s climbing up the brownie’s brae—­
      My heart is in a lowe. 
        Oh, no! ’tis not so,
      ’Tis glamrie I hae seen;
        The shadow o’ that hawthorn bush
      Will move nae mair till e’en.

    My book o’ grace I ’ll try to read,
      Though conn’d wi’ little skill;
    When collie barks I ’ll raise my head,
      And find her on the hill. 
        Oh, no! sad and slow,
      The time will ne’er be gane;
        The shadow o’ our trysting bush
      Is fix’d like ony stane.

SAW YE JOHNNIE COMIN’?

    “Saw ye Johnnie comin’?” quo’ she;
      “Saw ye Johnnie comin’? 
    Wi’ his blue bonnet on his head,
      And his doggie rinnin’. 
    Yestreen, about the gloamin’ time,
      I chanced to see him comin’,
    Whistling merrily the tune
      That I am a’ day hummin’,” quo’ she;
        “I am a’ day hummin’.