THE LASS IN YON TOWN.
O WAT ye wha's in yon town,
Ye see the e'ening sun upon?
The-dearest maid's in yon town,
His setting beams e'er shone upon.
How haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree.
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o' her ee,
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year,
But doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Jeannie dear.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
Amang the brooiry braes sae green;
But my delight's in yon town,
And dearest pleasure is my Jean.
Without my fair, not a' the charms
O Paradise could yield me joy;
But gie mé Jeannie in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky:
My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rents the air,
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O sweet is she in yon town,
The sinking sun's gaun down upon;
The dearest maid's in yon town,
His setting beam e'er shone upon.
If angry fate is sworn my foe,
And suffering I am doom'd to bear,
I'd careless quit aught else below,
But spare, oh! spare my Jeanie dear.
For while life's dearest blood runs warm,
My thoughts frae her shall ne'er depart;
For as most lovely is her form,
She has the truest, kindest heart.