Page:Four excellent songs (10).pdf/4

  Yon mossy rose-bud down the howe,
 * Just op’ning fresh and bonnie,

Blinks sweetly ’neath the hazel bough,
 * And’s scarcely seen by ony.

Sae sweet amidst her native hills,
 * Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,

Mair fair and gay than rosy May—
 * The flower of Arranteenie.

Now from the mountain’s lofty brow
 * I view the distant ocean,

There av’rice guides the bounding prow,
 * Ambition courts promotion.

Let fortune pour her golden store,
 * Her laurel’d favours many.

Give me but this, my soul’s first wish.
 * The lass of Arranteenie.

 

Last Monday night at sax o’clock,
 * To Mirren Gibb’s I went, man,

To meet wi’ some auld cronies there,
 * It was my hale intent, man.

So down we sat and pried the yill, Syne I pil’d out my sneeshin’ mill, An’ took a pinch wi’ right good-will, O’ beggar’s brown, the best in town. Then sent it roun’ about the room,
 * To gie ilka ane a scent, man.

