3
The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the prond,
Have trode o'er the plumes on the bonnet o' blue
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
When tyranny reveiled in the blood of the true?
Fareweel my young hero, the gallant and good,
The crown of thy father is torn from thy brow.
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH.
'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
Bonnie Jackie, blythe and gay,
Kiss'd sweet Jenny making hay:
The lassie blosh'd, and frowning cry'd,
Na, na, it winna do;
I canna, canna, winna, winna, maumna buckle to.
Jockie was a wag that never would wed,
Tho' long he had followed the lass;
Contented she earn’d and ate her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass.
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free,
Won her heart right merrily,
Yet still she blush’d, and frowning cry'd,
Na, na, it winna do;
I canna, canna, winna, winna, maunna buckle to.
But when he vow'd he wad mak her his bride,
Tho' his flocks at his herds were not few,
She gied him her hand, and a kiss beside,
And vow'd she'd for ever be true,
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free,
