In Summer.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Museum. The air is an old one, and is called "The Country Lass."]
In summer, when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While clover blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel',
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will,
Out spak' a dame in wrinkl'd eil',
O' gude advisement comes nae ill.
'Tis ye ha'e wooers mony a ane,
And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken,
Then wait a wee, and canny wale
A routhie but, a routhie ben:
There's Johnnie o' the Husky Glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak' this frae me, my bonnie hen,
'Tis plenty beets the lover's fire.
For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen
I dinna care a single flee;
He lo'es see weel his craps an' kye,
He has nae love to spare for me:
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear;
Ae blink o' him I wadna gi'e
For Buskie Glen and a' his gear.
O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught,
The canniest gate the strife is sair;
But aye fu' han't is fechting best,
A hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend and some will spare,
And wilfu' folk maun ha'e their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
O gear will buy me rigs o' land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye,
But the tender heart o' leesome love,
The gowd and siller canna buy.
We may be poor, Robie and I;
Light is the burden love lays on:
Content and love brings peace and joy;
What mair ha'e queens upon a throne?