Jeanie's black e'e.
[Macneil.—Tune, "Cauld frosty morning."]
The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning;
Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie;
When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewie morning,
My Jeanie cam' linking out owre the green lea.
To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens:
Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black e'e;
Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree,
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."[1]
Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel,
Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree:
Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,—
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience,
Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e.—
You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean; open thae lovely een;—
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning,
Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew;
Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning;
Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow,
O! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,
Barefit and kilted half up to the knee;
While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,—
"I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me!"
I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound;
Kiss her frae lug to lug; nae ane can see;
Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou.—"Will, I'm no sleeping now;
I was asleep, but ye've waken'd me."
Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,
Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e;
And aye since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,
"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."
- ↑ I am asleep, do not waken me.