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THE ROSE O' KIRTLE.
In Roslin's bowers bloom fragrant flowers,
On Yarrow's banks bloom mony;
Whare Kirtle flows, ance stately rose
The sweetest flower o' ony!
I've travelled east, I've travelled west,
I've been mang groves o' myrtle;
Tho' flowers bloom'd fair, nane could compare,
Wi' the sweet rose o' Kirtle.
In secret glade it rais'd its head,
And fair its leaves spread blooming,
And as they spread, they fragrance shed,
A' Kirtle's banks perfuming.
Lur'd by its fame, the young anes came,
(Some came frae west the Shannon )
An ilk ane swore, nae flower before,
Bloom'd like the flower o' Annan!—
But wise anes knew a death-worm grew
Deep at its roots consuming;
An' while they sigh'd, they mournfu' cried,
'The rose maun fade that's blooming.'
'Twas then Fate said 'frae native glade
We'll pu' the rose o' Kirtle;
