Page:Jim Crow.pdf/7

 Although the lad the plaid who wore,

Is now upon a distant shore;

And cruel seas between us roar,

I’ll mind the plaid that sheltered me.

The lad that gied me’t likes me weel,

Although his name I darna tell,

He likes me just as weel’s himsel’,

And O the plaid is dear to me.

O may the plaidie yet be worn,

By Caledonians yet unborn;

Ill fa’ the wretch that e’er doth scorn,

The plaidie that’s sae dear to me.

 

Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly loe the west,

For there the bonny lassie lives,

The lassie I loe best.

Though wild-woods grow, and rivers row

Wi’ mony a hill between,

Baith day and night my fancy’s flight

Is ever wi’ my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flower,

Sae lovely, sweet and fair;

I hear her voice in ilka bird,

Wi’ music charm the air.

There’s no a bonnie flower that springs,

By fountain, shaw, or green,

Nor yet a bonny bird that sings,

But minds me o’ my Jean.

