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But my delight's in a—lins coup
Wi' Andrew and his cuttie gun.
Blythe, blythe blythe, was she,
Blythe was she butt and ben,
And weel she lo'ed it in her neive,
But better when it slippit in.
THE VOICE OF HER I LOVE
How sweet, at close of eve,
The harp's responsive sound,
How sweet the vows that ne'er deceiv
And deeds by virtue crown'd,
How sweet to sit beneath a tree,
In some delightful grove,
But ah! more soft, more sweet to me
The voice of her I love
Whene'er she joins the village train,
To hail the new-born day:
Melliflous notes compose each ⟨stra⟩
Which Zephyrs wait away.
