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THE LASS O’ GOWRIE.
UPON a simmer afternoon,
A wee before the sun gade down,
My lassie in a braw new gown,
Cam' o,er the hills to Gowrie.
The rose-bud, ting’d with morning show’r
Bloom fresh within the sunny bow’r;
But Katie was the fairest flower
That ever bloom’d in Gowrie.
Nae thought had I to do her wrang,
But round her waist my arms I flang,
And said, My dearie, will ye gang
To see the Carse o’ Gowrie?
I’ll tak' ye to my father’s ha’,
In yon green fields beside the shaw;
I'll mak’ you lady o’ them a’,
The brawest wife in Gowrie.
A silken gown o’ siller grey,
My mither coft last new-year’s-day,
And buskit me frae tap to tae,
To keep me out o’ Gowrie.
Daft Will, short syne, cam’ courting Nell,
And wan the lass, but what befel,
Or whar she’s gane, she kens hersel’,
She staid na lung in, Gowrie.
