He gaed wi’ Jeanie to the tryſt,
he danc’d wi’ Jannie on the down;
And lang ere witleſs Jeanie wiſt
her heart was tiſt, her peace was ſtown.
As in the boſom o’ the ſtream.
the moon beam dwells at dewy e’en:
So trembling, pure, was tender love,
within the breaſt o’ bonny jean.
And now ſhe works her mither’s wark,
and ay ſhe ſighs wi’ care and pain;
Yet wiſt na what her all might be,
or what wad mak her weel again.
But did na Jeanie’s heart loup light,
and didna joy blink in her e’e,
As Robie tauld a tale o’ love,
at e’enin on the lily lea?
The ſun was ſinking in the weſt,
the birds ſang ſweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to her’s he fondly preſt,
and whiſper’d thus his tale o’ love;
O Jeanie fair I loe thce dear;
O canſt thou think to fancy me?
