The Making o’ the Hay.
[Robert Nicoll.]
Across the riggs we'll wander
The new-mawn hay amang,
And hear the blackbird in the wood,
And gi'e it sang for sang.
We'll gi'e it sang for sang, we will,
For ilka heart is gay,
As lads and lasses trip alang
At making o' the hay!
It is sae sweetly scented,
It seems a maiden's breath;
Aboon, the sun has wither'd it,
But there is green beneath.
But there is caller green beneath,
Come, lasses, foot away!
The heart is dowie can be cauld
At making o' the hay!
Step lightly o'er, gang saftly by,
Mak' rig and furrow clean,
And coil it up in fragrant heaps,—
We maun ha'e done at e'en:—
We maun ha'e done at gloaming e'en;
And when the clouds grow grey,
Ilk lad may kiss his bonnie lass
Amang the new-made hay!