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ON ANGLING. |
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For he's leal and true, and his bonnet blue, He'll fish the rill sae bonnie O ;
When o'er the dikes, and through the sike I flee to meet my Johnny O.
When middled in his fondling arms, And pressed wi' lips sae bonnie O,
My yearning heart sae fou and fain, Croons wi' its love for Johnny O.
Wi' guileless tongue sae fair and free,
I fear nae skaith of ony O, When dandlin' on the honest knee
O' my fond angling Johnny O,
At Lammas tide I'll be his bride,
And care nae mair for ony O, The happy wife to spend my life
With honest angling Johnny O. |
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ANGLING.
By silver streams and tuneful grove, I'll give my angling steps to rove ; To haunt the brink of trinkling rills, The flow'ry vales or sloping hills. Far, far, from all I fear or hate, From splendid life's delusive state. Splendour canker'd with distress, Grandeur mix'd with littleness. |
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