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50 TONE-POETRY OF ROBERT BURNS
And now she works her country's wark, And ay she sighs wi' care and pain,
Yet wist na what her ail might be, Or what wad make her weel again.
But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, And did na joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love Ae e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west, The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ;
His cheek to hers he fondly laid,
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love :—
' O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear— O, canst thou think to fancy me ?
Or wilt thou leave thy maramie's cot, And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
'At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, Or naething else to trouble thee,
But stray amang the heather-bells, And tent the waving corn wi' me.'
Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had nae will to say him na : At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.