18
LANGSYNE BESIDE THE WOODLAND
BURN
LANGSYNE beside the woodland burn,
Amang the broom sae yellow,
I lean'd me 'neath the milkwhite thorn,
On natures mossy pillow;
Around my seat the flow'rs were strow'd,
That frae the wildwood I had pu'd,
To weave mysel' a simmer snood,
To pleasure my dear fellow
I twin'd the woodbine round the rose,
Its richer hues to mellow,
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose
To busk tho sedge sae yellow.
The craw-flow'r blue, and meadow pink,
I wove in primrose braided link,
But little, little did I think,
I should have wove the willow.
My bonnie lad was forced afar,
Toss'd on the raging billow,
Perhaps he's fa'n in bludy war,
Or wrecked on rocky shallow;
Yet, aye I hope for his return,
As round our wonted haunts I mourn,
And aften by the woodland burn,
I pu' the weeping willow.
------
MOLLY, MY DEAR.
THE harvest is o'er, and the lads are so funny,
Their hearts lined with love and their pockets with
money;
From morning till night, 'tis My jewel, my honey,
"Och, go to the North with me, Molly, my dear!"
