Page:New minstrel.pdf/22



in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early;

When a the hills are cover'd wi' snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west,

The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast.

I'm sure it's winter fairly

Up in the morning &c.

The birds sit chittering on the thorn,

A' day they fare but sparely

And lang's the nicht frae e'en to morn

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning, &c.





banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care!

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,

That wantons through the flowering thorn;

Thou minds me of departed joys,

Departed, never to return.

Oft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;

And hear ilk bird sing o' its love,

As fondly sae did I o' mi