Page:Five Scotch songs (1).pdf/6

 Why is thy face o'ercast with woe,

He said, or why oppressed?

Should worldly care, or hapless love,

E’er rob thy youth of rest!

He tun'd his pipe, and play'd sae sweet,

He gart my cares stand yon';

I bless the day I chanc'd to meet

Wi' John o' Badenyon.

'Twas he first taught my youth to sing,

And weave the rustic lay,

And to his pipe the woods would ring

The lee lang summer day.

Nane had sic art to soothe my heart,

But now, alas! he's gone,

For nane could ever play or sing

Like John o' Badenyon.

He, dying, gave to me this pipe,

On which he us'd to play;

Be thou its second lord, he said,

And soothe thy care away;

And seize each op'ning bud of joy,

That blooms the thorns among;

So, dying said, he left this scene—

Dear John o' Badenyon.

I laid his head beneath the yird.

And dew'd it wi' a tear;

I often wander near the spot

For he to me was dear.