The Book of Scottish Song/The black-haired laddie

The black-haired laddie.

[David Tough.—Air, "An gilleadh duth ciar duth."]

Alack, my sad heart! how it throbs wi' its sorrow;
I ne'er can awa' wi' the thoughts o' to-morrow;
My father he bargain'd to part wi' his Flora,
⁠My black-hair'd dear laddie, O tak' me awa'!
⁠My black-hair'd dear laddie, O tak' me awa'!

I flee frae the grey-headed laird an' my father,
I flee to my shepherd, wha trips owre the heather;
We aye were fu' glad when at e'en we'd forgather;
⁠My black-hair'd dear laddie, tak' me awa'!
⁠My black-hair'd, &c.

The story is tauld, an' her father's confounded,
The ha' wi' his rage an' rampagin' resounded;
The horn, an' the shout's spreadin' clamour, far sounded,
⁠To tell wha the shepherd had carried awa'.
⁠To tell, &c.

Owre hill, stream, an' valley, through bramble an' bracken,
They flew till the fugitives were overtaken;
They've torn them asunder, their tender hearts breakin';
⁠The black-hair'd poor shepherd they drave him awa'.
⁠The black-hair'd, &c.

The shepherd he look'd in a sad sort o' languish,
An' Flora, o'ercome, in a heart-breakin' aniruish,
Exclaim'd—"Frosty-headed laird ne'er shall extinguish
⁠My love for the laddie they've driven awa'."
⁠My love, &c.

Then, Flora, my life's saul, refrain thy sad sorrow,
Nor heed ye the purposed plan o' to-morrow,
The doitard is doited, the shepherds, dear Flora,
⁠Ere morning's grey dawnin' will hae thee awa'.
⁠Ere morning, &c.

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