7
Now spring's green mantle clothes the field,
But, ah! I sing alone;
For spring's green mantle clothes the grave
Of John o' Badenyon.
LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonny lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?
Now Nature cleads the flow'ry lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joy wi' me,
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O?
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.
And when the welcome simmer show'r
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flow'r,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bow’r,
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c
When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way;
Through yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, O.
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, &c.
