Page:Jim Crow.pdf/5

 Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,

Sweet were the kisses that she gae to me.

Sair gloom’d his dark brow, blood red his cheek grew,

Wild flash’d the fire frae his dark rolling e’e;

Ye’ll rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning,

Defend ye, fause traitor, fu’ loudly ye lie.

Awa wi’ beguiling, cried the youth smiling,

Aff went the bonnet, the lint-white locks flow,

The belted plaid fa’ing, her white bosom shawing,

Fair stood the loved maid wi’ the dark-rolling e’e.

Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing?

Is it my true love here that I see?

Oh, Jamie! forgie me, your heart’s constant to me,

I’ll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!



Haud awa, bide awa,

Haud awa frae me, Donald;

What care I for a’ your wealth,

And a’ that' ye can gie Donald?

I wadna lea my lowland lad,

For a’ your goud an’ gear, Donald,

Sae tak your plaid, and o’er the hill,

And stay nae langer here, Donald.

Haud awa, bide awa, &c.

My Jamie is a gallant youth—

I loe but him alane, Donald;

And in bonny Scotland’s isle,

Like him there is nane, Donald.