Page:Five songs (2).pdf/5

The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning;
Light sprang the lav’rock and mounted sae hie;
When true to the tryst o’ blythe May’s dewie morning,
My Jeanie cam linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience, I crap ’mang the brakens;
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn’d her black e’e;
Then lying down dowylie, sigh’d by the willow tree.
‘Ha me mohatel, na dousku me.’^[1]

Saft through the green birks I sta’ to my jewel.
Streik’d on Spring’s carpet aneath the saugh tree:
Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie’s been cruel,—
Ha me mohatel, na dousku me.
Wi’ luve’s warm sensations I’ve mark’d your impatience,
Lang hid ’mang the brakens I watch’d your black e’e.—
You’re no sleeping; pawkie Jean; open thae lovely e’en;
Ha me mohatel, na dousku me.

Bright is the whin’s bloom ilk green knowe adorning;
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi’ dew;