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98 TONE-POETRY OF ROBERT BURNS |
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No. 106. Now haply down yon gay green shaw.
Tune: Til gae nae mair to yon town (see No. 99).
Chorus. O, wat ye wha 's in yon town, Ye see the e^enin sun upon ? The dearest maid's in yon town That e^enin sun is shining on I
Now haply down yon gay green shaw She wanders by yon spreading tree ;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw, Ye catch the glances o' her e'e!
How blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year!
And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Jeanie dear!
The sun blinks blythe in yon town, Among the broomy braes sae green ;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.
Without my Love, not a' the charms
O' Paradise could yield me joy ; But gie me Jeanie in my arms,
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky !
My cave wad be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air, And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O, sweet is she in yon town
The sinkin sun 's gane down upon ! A fairer than's in yon town
His setting beam ne'er shone upon.
If angry fate be sworn my foe,
And suff'ring I am doom'd to bear;
I'd careless quit aught else below, But spare, O, spare me Jeanie dear!
For, while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
And she, as fairest is her form, She has the truest, kindest heart. |
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