The Window Pane.
[From "Pontia: a Tale, and other Poems, by George Taylor," Edinburgh, 1837. Mr. Taylor, is parochial teacher in Anstruther Wester, Fifeshire.]
Let me in, let me in, my bonnie sweetheart,
Or come ye out to me;
It's lang since I saw your winsome face,
Or the smirk o' yere coal-black e'e.
The bonnie clear moon is in the sky,
There fa's nae cauld night dew—
Come out, come out, my bonnie sweetheart,
Or let me in to you.
"I will neither come out nor let you in;
Gae wa' frae the window pane,
Gae back to her ye were wi' yestreen,
And be content wi' ane."
Fause, fause was the tongue that tauld ye sae;
I lo'e nane but ye'rsel':
Rise up, rise up, my bonnie sweetheart—
I've a breastfu' of love to tell!
And how could she doubt the lad she loved?
Her heart relented soon—
He clasp'd in his arms his bonnie sweetheart,
'Neath the light of the siller moon.
His lips were press'd to her blushing cheek,
Her doubts and fears were gane;
She wondered why she had let him stand
Sae lang at the window-pane.