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And ay sho wrought her mither's wark,
And ay sho sang sae merrilie;
The blithest bird upon the bush,
Had no'er a lighter heart than she.
But hawks will rob tho tender joys
That bless tho little lintwhito's nest:
And frost will blight tho fairest flowers,
And levo will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton nagies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryst,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stewn,
As in tho boson 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 ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
