Page:Singers' companion (1).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’ mine