This page has been validated.
7
Away with every toil and care;
And cease the rankling thorn to wear,
With manful hearts life’s conflict meet,
Till death sounds the retreat.
I GAED A WAEFU' GATE YESTREEN.
I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen,
A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue;
I gat my death frae twa sweet een,
Twa lovely een o’ bonnie blue.
’Twas not her’ golden ringlets bright’,
Her lips like roses wet wi’ dew,
Her heaving bosom lily white,
It was her een sae bonny blue.
She talked she smiled, my heart she wiled,
She Charmed my soul, I wistna how;
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue.
But spare to speak, and spare to speed,
She’ll aiblins listen to my vow;
