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But didna Jeanie s heart loup light, And didna joy blink in her e’e, As Robie tauld a tale of love, At e’ening on the lily lee ?
The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet, in ilka grove ; His cheek to her’s he fondly prest, And whisper’d thus his tale of love:—
O Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear ; 0 canst thou think to fancy me •' Or wilt thou leave thy mither’s cot, And learn to tent the farms wi’ me ?
At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, Or naething'clso 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 aye between: them twa.
