THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

Abune the hill ae muckle star is burnin’,

Sae saft an’ still, my dear, sae far awa,

There's ne'er a wind, noo day to nicht is turnin’,

To lift the brainches o’ the whisperin’ shaw;

Aye, Jess, there's nane to see,

There's just the sheep an’ me,

And ane's fair wastit when there micht be twa!

Alang the knowes there's no a beast that's movin’,

They sheep o’ mine lie sleepin’ i’ the dew;

There's jist ae thing that's wearyin’ an’ rovin’,

An’ that's mysel’, that wearies, wantin’ you.

What ails ye, that ye bide

In-by — an’ me ootside

To curse an’ daunder a’ the gloamin’ through?

To haud my tongue an’ aye hae patience wi’ ye

Is waur nor what a lass like you can guess;

For a’ yer pranks I canna but forgi'e ye,

I'fegs! there's naucht can gar me lo'e ye less;

Heaven's i’ yer een, an’ whiles

There's heaven i’ yer smiles,

But oh! ye tak’ a deal o’ courtin’, Jess!