Poems (Craik)/Rothesay Bay

by Dinah Maria Craik

ROTHESAY BAY.

U' yellow lie the corn-rigs
  Far 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.
I sit my lane amang the rigs
  Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

It 's a bonnie bay at morning,
  And bonnier at the noon,
But it 's bonniest when the sun draps
  And red comes up the moon:
When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbrays,
  And Arran peaks are gray,
And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings,
  Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay,

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,
  And a wee tear blin's my e'e,—
And I think o' that far Countrie
  What I wad like to be!
But I rise content i' the morning
  To wark while wark I may
I' the yellow harst field of Ardbeg
  Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.