Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/On Ettrick Banks

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On Ettrick Banks.
On Ettrick banks, in a summer night,
 At gloaming, when the sheep drave hame,
I met my lassie braw and tight,
 Come wandering, barefoot, a' her lane.
My heart grew light, I ran, I flang
 My arms about her lily neck,
And kissed and clapped her there fu' lang:
 My word they were na' mony freck.

Said I, "My lassie, will ye go
 To Highland hills, the Gaelic learn;
I'll baith gie thee a cow and ewe,
 When ye come to the brig o' Earn.
At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fash,
 And herrings at the Broomielaw,
Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass,
 There's gear to win ye never saw.

"All day when we have wrought enough,
 When winter frosts and snaws begin,
Soon as the sun gaes west the loch.
 At night when ye sit down to spin,
 ​I'll screw my pipes, and play a spring,
 And thus the weary night we'll end,
Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring
 Our pleasant summer back again.

"Syne when the trees are in their bloom,
 And gowans glint o'er ilka field,
I'll meet my lass amang the broom,
 And lead her to my summer shield.
Then, far frae a' their scornfu' din,
 That make the kindly hearts their sport,
We'll laugh and kiss, and dance, and sing,
 And gar the langest day seem short."

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