Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Pocket songster, or, Caledonian warbler

110 THE POCKET SONGSTER} '
I hadna been a week, a week but only four,
When sitting sae mournfully ae night at the door,
1 saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he,
Till he said, I'm come hame, love, to marry thee.
sair did we greet, and muckle did we say.
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away :
1 wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to die,
How lang shall I live, to cry, O waes me !
I gang like a ghaist, and I dinna like to spin,
I darena think on Jamie, for that would be a sin ;
But I'll e'en do my best, a gude wife to be,
For auld Robin Gray is aye kind to me.
Lindsaif.
THE BANKS O' DOON.
Ye banks an' braes o' bonny doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh an' fair ?
How can ye chant, ye httle birds,
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care ?
Ye'll break my heart, ye warbling birds,
That wanton through the flowering thorn
Ye mind me o' departed joys,
Departed, never to return.
Oft hae I rov'd by bonny Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine tAvine ;
And ilka bird sang o' its love,
And fondly sae did I o' mine.