342
I Met Wi' Her I Luved Yestreen.
I met wi' her I luved yestreen,
I met her wi' a look o' sorrow;
My leave I took o' her for aye,
A weddit bride she'll be the morrow!
She durst na gie ae smile to me,
Nor drap ae word o* kindly feelin',
Yet down her cheeks the bitter tears,
In monie a pearly bead, were stealin'.
I could na my lost luve upbraid,
Altho' my dearest hopes were blighted
I could na say—'ye're fause to me!'—
Tho' to anither she was plighted.
Like suthfast friens whom death divides,
In Heaven to meet, we silent parted;
Nae voice had we our griefs to speak,
We felt sae lone and broken-hearted.
