The Book of Scottish Song/Winter, wi' his cloudy brow
Winter, wi’ his cloudy brow.
[Robert Tannahill.—Air, "Forneth House."]
Now winter, wi' his cloudy brow,
Is far ayont yon mountains,
And spring beholds her azure sky
Reflected in the fountains.
Now, on the budding slaethom bank,
She spreads her early blossom,
And wooes the mirly-breasted birds
To nestle in her bosom.
But lately a' was clad wi' snaw,
Sae darksome, dull, and dreary,
Now lavrocks sing, to hail the spring,
And nature all is cheery.
Then let us leave the town, my love,
And seek our country dwelling,
Where waving woods, and spreading flow'rs,
On every side are smiling.
We'll tread again the daisied green,
Where first your beauty moved me;
We'll trace again the woodland scene,
Where first ye own'd ye loved me.
We soon will view the roses blaw
In a' the charms of fancy,
For doubly dear these pleasures a',
When shared with thee, my Nancy.