Page:Burn side.pdf/6

 For foul day and fair day, he’s ay bringing till her; For meal and malt she does na want, nor ony thing that’s dainty; And now and then a keckling hen, to lay her eggs in plenty.

In winter when the wind and rain, blaws o’er the house and byre, He sits beside a clean hearth-stane, before a rousing fire; With nut-brown ale he tells his tale, which rows him o’er fu’ nappy, Who’d be a king,——a petty thing, when a miller lives so happy.

A Morn last owk, as I gaed out, to felt a tethert ewe an’ lamb, I met a’ skypen o’er the green, a jolly rantin highlandman. His shape was neat, wi’ features sweet, and ilka smile my favour won; I ne’er had seen sae braw a lad, as this young rantin highlandman.

He said, my dear, you’re soon asteer, come ye to hear the lav’rocks sang, O wad ye gang along wi’ me, an’ wed a rantin highlandman.