“Far hae I wander’d
to see thee, dear lassie!
Far hae I ventured across the saut sea;
Far hae I travell’d ower moorland and mountain,
Houseless and weary, sleep’d cauld on
the lea.
Ne’er hae I tried yet to mak love to onie,
For ne’er lo’ed I onie till ance
I lo’ed you;
Now we ’re alane in the green-wood sae bonnie—
Oh, tell me how for to woo!”
“What care I for your
wand’ring, young laddie?
What care I for
your crossing the sea?
It was na for naething ye
left poor young Peggie;
It was for my
tocher ye cam’ to court me.
Say, hae ye gowd to busk me
aye gaudie?
Ribbons, and perlins,
and breast-knots enew?
A house that is canty, with
wealth in ’t, my laddie?
Without this ye
never need try for to woo.”
“I hae na gowd to busk
ye aye gaudie;
I canna buy ribbons
and perlins enew;
I ‘ve naething to brag
o’ house, or o’ plenty,
I ’ve little
to gi’e, but a heart that is true.
I cam’ na for tocher—I
ne’er heard o’ onie;
I never lo’ed
Peggy, nor e’er brak my vow:
I ’ve wander’d,
puir fule! for a face fause as bonnie:
I little thocht
this was the way for to woo.”
“Our laird has fine
houses, and guineas o’ gowd
He ‘s youthfu’,
he ’s blooming, and comely to see.
The leddies are a’ ga’en
wud for the wooer,
And yet, ilka
e’ening, he leaves them for me.
Oh, saft in the gloaming,
his love he discloses!
And saftly, yestreen,
as I milked my cow,
He swore that my breath it
was sweeter than roses,
And a’ the
gait hame he did naething but woo.”
“Ah, Jenny! the young
laird may brag o’ his siller,
His houses, his
lands, and his lordly degree;
His speeches for true love
may drap sweet as honey,
But trust me,
dear Jenny, he ne’er lo’ed like me.
The wooin’ o’
gentry are fine words o’ fashion—
The faster they
fa’ as the heart is least true;
The dumb look o’ love
‘s aft the best proof o’ passion;
The heart that
feels maist is the least fit to woo.”
“Hae na ye roosed my
cheeks like the morning?
Hae na ye roosed
my cherry-red mou’?
Hae na ye come ower sea, moor,
and mountain?
What mair, Johnnie,
need ye to woo?
Far ye wander’d, I ken,
my dear laddie;
Now that ye ’ve
found me, there ’s nae cause to rue;
Wi’ health we ’ll
hae plenty—I ’ll never gang gaudie;
I ne’er
wish’d for mair than a heart that is true.”
She hid her fair face in her
true lover’s bosom,
The saft tear
o’ transport fill’d ilk lover’s e’e;
The burnie ran sweet by their
side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang
the mavis aboon on the tree.
He clasp’d her, he press’d
her, and ca’d her his hinny;
And aften he tasted
her honey-sweet mou’;
And aye, ’tween ilk
kiss, she sigh’d to her Johnnie,
“Oh, laddie!
weel can ye woo.”