30
ROTHESAY BAY.
When I need not shrink to meet
Those dread placards in the street,
Which for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes—Child, say thy prayer
Once again; a different one:
Say, "O God, Thy will be done
By the Alma river."
Those dread placards in the street,
Which for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes—Child, say thy prayer
Once again; a different one:
Say, "O God, Thy will be done
By the Alma river."
ROTHESAY BAY.
U' yellow lie the corn-rigsFar doun the braid hillside;
It is the brawest harst field
Alang the shores o' Clyde,
And I 'm a puir harst-lassie
That Stan's the lee-lang day
Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.
O I had ance a true-love,—
Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day.
Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
But I hae tint them a';
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day.
