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Then dry the tearfu' ee, Jean,
My soul langs to be free, Jean,
An' angels wait on me
To the land o' the leal.
Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean,
This warld's care is vain, Jean,
We'll meet an' aye be fain
In the land o' the leal.

 

Bessy Bell and Mary Gray.

⟨O⟩ Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
They war twa bonny lasses,
They bigg'd a bower on yon burnbrae
And theeked it o'er wi rashes.
⟨Fair⟩ Bessy Bell I lo'ed yestreen,
And thought I ne'er could alter:
⟨Bat⟩ Mary Gray's twa pawky een,
They gar my fancy falter.

Now Bessy's hair's like a lint-tap;
She smiles like a May morning,
When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap,
The hills with rays adorning:
White is her neck, saft is her hand,
Her waist and feet's fu' genty;
With ilka grace she can command;
Her lips, O vow! they're dainty.