The Country Lass Poem
In simmer, when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav’d green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o’er the lea
And roses blaw in ilka beild!
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,
Says— I’ll be wed, come o’t what will :
Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild;
O’ gude advisement comes nae ill.
It’s ye hae wooers mony ane,
And lassie, ye’re but young ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben;
There’s Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
Fu’ is his barn, fu’ is his byre;
Take this frae me, my bonie hen,
It’s plenty beets the luver’s fire.
For Johnie o’ the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;
He lo’es sae weel his craps and kye,
He has nae love to spare for me;
But blythe’s the blink o’ Robie’s e’e,
And weel I wat he lo’es me dear:
Ae blink o’ him I wad na gie
For Buskie-glen and a’ his gear.
O thoughtless lassie, life’s a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu’—han’t is fechtin’ best,
A hungry care’s an unco care:
But some will spend and some will spare,
An’ wilfu’ folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.
O gear will buy me rigs o’ land,
And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o’ leesome love,
The gowd and siller canna buy;
We may be poor—Robie and I—
Light is the burden love lays on;
Content and love brings peace and joy—
What mair hae Queens upon a throne?