7
And mony a day ye’ve dane’d I ween,
To ilts which from my drone I blew.
My Eppie wak’d, and soon she cried,
Get up gudeman, and let him in;
For we-l ye ken, the winter night,
Was short when he began his din.
My Eppie’s voice, O wow it's sweet,
E’en tho she bans and scaulds a wee;
But when it’s turned to sorrow’s tale,
O hạith it’s doubly dear to me.
Come in, auld carl I’ll steer my fire,
I’ll mak it steer a bonny flame;
Your bluid is this ye ve (illegible text)int you ga’e,
You should na stray spe far free hame,
Nae hame have I, the minstrel said,
Sae party-strife o’erturned my ha’;
And weeping, at the eve of life,
I wander through a wreath of snaw.
CHARLIE HE’S MY DARLING
’Twas on a Monday mor ing,
Right early in the year
That Charlie came to our town,
The young Chevalier.
