3
She put aff her apron, an’ on her silk gown.
Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and ran awa down.
An’ when she came down, she bowed fu’ low.
An’ what was his errand he soon let her know,
Amaz’d was the Laird when the lady said—na;
And wi’ a laigh courtesy she turn’d awa.
Dumfounder’d he was—he nae sigh did gie;
He mounted his mare and rade cannily;
An’ aften he thocht as he gaed through the glen,
She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen.
Near to the house amang the lang trees,
There he did meet sweet Jeanie Greenlees;
At his table she sits like a white-tappit hen,
And mickle thinks she o’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.
THE LASS OF ARRANTEENIE.
Far lone amang the Highland hills,
’Midst Nature’s wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens and woody glens
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me, when gaun to thee—
Sweet lass of Arranteenie.
