Yes, wi' that bonnie Clachan Glen,
Whare birdies chant the artless strain,
Her warks she crown'd—and mark'd her ain
The bonnie banks o' Glaizart.
Eclipsing a' her favours high,
She blythe proclaim'd wi' smiling eye,
"Now, never now, shall scene outvie
The bonnie banks o' Glaizart."
Mary, O.
[Tune, "Gloomy winter's now awa'."]
Trilling Harp, come let us sing,
Come let me brace ilk gowden string,
And warble owre some bonnie spring,
In praise o' my sweet Mary, O.
The lay along let sweetly move,
Freely let the love-notes rove,
Peerless, yea, resound my love,
My blythe, my bonnie Mary, O.
For O she's handsome, sweet, and fair,
Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare;
Ne'er shall maid wi' her compare,
My blythe, my darling Mary, O.
Though Burns divine, in rapture keen,
Sang sweetly o' his "Bonnie Jean,"
She scarcely e'er in shape or mien,
Could match my bonnie Mary, O.
Though Tannahill in numbers fain,
Extoll'd his "Jessie o' Dumblane,"
And though her praises charm ilk swain,
Excell'd she's now by Mary, O.
O had thae twa sweet bards but seen
This blooming maid o' bonnie mien,
They'd tuned her heavenly lyres I ween,
And peerless made my Mary, O.
Ye powers aboon, guard frae harms
The maid whase smile my bosom warms,
And lang endow'd wi' rowth o' charms,
Let bloom my bonnie Mary, O.
O guide her through this dreary vale
O' sorrow, trouble, woe, and wail,
And heaven-ward when she soars, entail
Eternal bliss on Mary, O.
For she's handsome, sweet, and fair,
Blooming, sprightly, mild, and rare;
Ne'er shall maid wi' her compare,
My blythe, my darling Mary, O.
The Plaidie.
[Tune, "Old Highland laddie."]
The wind blew hie owre muir and lea,
And dark and stormy grew the weather;
The rain rain'd sair; nae shelter near
But my luve's plaid amang the heather.
O my bonnie Highland lad,
My winsome, weelfar'd Highland laddie;
Wha wad mind the wind and rain,
Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie?
Close to his breast he held me fast;
Sae cozie, warm, we lay thegither;
Nae simmer heat was half sae sweet
As my luve's plaid amang the heather '
O my bonnie, &c.
'Mid wind and rain he tauld his tale;
My lightsome heart grew like a feather;
It lap sae quick I cou'dna speak,
But silent sigh'd amang the heather.
O my bonnie, &c.
The storm blew past; we kiss'd in haste;
I hameward ran and tauld my mither;
She gloom'd at first, but soon confest
The bowls row'd right amang the heather.
O my bonnie, &c.
Now Hymen's beam gilds bank and stream,
Whare Will and I fresh flowers will gather
Nae storms I fear, I've got my dear
Kind-hearted lad amang the heather.
O my bonnie Highland lad.
My winsome, weelfar'd Highland laddie
Should storms appear, my Will's aye near
To row me in his tartan plaidie.
The spinning o’t.
[Tune, "Rock and wee pickle tow."]
Now Sandy, the winter's cauld blasts are awa',
And simmer, we've seen the beginning o't;
I've lang been wearied o' frost and o' snaw,
And sair ha'e I tired o' the spinning o't;
