The Book of Scottish Song/The Quern Lilt
The Quern Lilt.
[Robert Jamieson.]
The cronach stills the dowie heart
The jurram stills the bairnie;
The music for a hungry wane
Is grinding o' the quernie.
And loes me o' my little quemie!
Grind the gradden, grind it:
We'll a' get crowdie whan it's done,
And bannocks steeve to bind it.
The married man his joy may prize;
The lover prize his arles;
But gin the quernie gangna round,
They baith will soon be sareless.
Sae loes me, &c.
The whisky gars the bark o' life
Drive merrily and rarely;
But graddan is the ballast gars
It steady gang and fairly.
Then loes me, &c.
Though winter steeks the door wi' drift,
And o'er the ingle hings us;
Let but the little quernie gae,
We're blythe, whatever dings us.
Then loes me, &c.
And how it cheers the herd at e'en,
And sets his heart-strings dirlin',
When, comin' frae the hungry hill,
He hears the quernie birlin'!
Then loes me, &c.
Though sturt and stride wi' young and auld,
And flytin' but and ben be;
Let but the quernie play, they'll soon
A' lown and fidgin'-fain be.
Then loes me, &c.