The banks of Tarf.
[Nicholson.—Tune, "Sin' my Uncle's dead."]
Where windin' Tarf, by broomy knowes,
Her siller wave sae saftly rows;
And mony a green-wood cluster grows,
An' hare-bells bloomin', bonnie, O.
Below a spreadin' hazle tree,
Fu' snugly hid whar nane could see,
While blinkin' love beam'd frae her e'e,
I met my bonnie Annie, O.
Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue,
Her lips like roses wet wi' dew:
But O, her e'e, o' azure blue,
Was past expressin' bonnie, O.
Like threads o' gowd her flowin' hair,
That lightly wanton'd in the air;
But vain were a' my skill an' mair
To tell the charms o' Annie, O.
While smilin' in my arms she lay,
She whisperin' in my ear did say,
"O how could I survive the day,
Should ye prove fause, my Tammie, O!"
"While spangled fish glide to the main,
While Scotlan's braes shall wave wi' grain,
Till this fond heart shall break wi' pain,
I'll aye be true to Annie, O."
The Beltane winds blew loud an lang,
An' ripplin' raised the spray alang;
We cheerfu' sat, and chierfu' sang,
The banks o' Tarf are bonnie, O.
Tho' sweet is spring, whan young and gay,
An' blythe the blinks o' summer's day;
I fear nae winter, cauld and blae,
If blest wi' love an' Annie, O.