Bonny Jean (1)/Bonny Jean

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There was a Lass.

There was a lass, and she was fair,
At kirk or market to be seen,
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonny Jean.

And ay she wrought her mammy's wark
And ay she sung sae merrilie;
The blithest bird upon the bush,
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender jays,
That bless the little lint-white's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.

Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The flower and pride of a' the glen.
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
And lang e'er witless Jeanie wist
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.

As in the bosom o’ the stream,
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en;
So; trembling, pure, was tender love,
Within the breast o’ bonnie Jean.

And now she works her mammie’s wark,
And ay she sighs wi' grief and pain,
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.

But didna Jeanie's heart loup light,
And didna joy blink in her e'e,
As Robin tauld a tale o' love,
Ae day upon the flowery lea.

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove,
His cheek to hers he fond y prest,
And whisper'd thus his tale of love.

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear,
O canst thou think to fancy me?
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie’s cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?

At barn or byre thou shall na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather bells,
And tent the waving corn wi’ me.

Now what could artless Jeanie do?
She had nae will to say him na;
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay atween them twa.