Page:Mary's dream (NLS104187029).pdf/5

5 While down the deep glen bawls the naw-flooded fountain, That murmur’d ae weet to my laddie an’ me: It’s no its loud roar on the wintry win’ wellin’, It’s no the cauld blat brings the tears i’ my e’e, For, O gin I aw but my bonny Scots callan, The dark days o’ winter war’ immer to me!

The Braes of Balquhither.

us go, laie, go To the braes of Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow ’Mang the bonnie Highland heather; Where the deer and the rae, Lightly bounding together, Sport the land ummer day On the braes o’ Balquhither.

I will twine thee a bow’r By the clear iller fountain, And I’ll cover it o’er Wi’ the flow’rs o’ the mountain; I’ll range thro’ the wilds, And the teep glens o dreary, And return wi’ their poils To the bow’r o’ my dearie.