27
When we ran aff to speel the braes—
The broomy braes o' June?
Aly head rins round and round about,
Aly heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-time and o' thee.
Oh, mornin' life! oh, mornin' luve!
Oh lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang!
Oh mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon?
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin o' the wood,
The throssil whusslit sweet;
The throssil whusslit in the wood.
The burn sang to the trees,
