Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/26

8 In the morning soon, when I came down,

The ne'er a word she spake,

But monie a sad and sour look,

And aye her head she'd shake.

My dear, quoth I, what aileth thee,

To look sae sour on me?

I'll never do the like again,

If ye'll ne'er tak' the gee.

When that she heard, she ran, shy flang

Her arms about my neck;

And twenty kisses in a crack,

And, poor wee thing, she grat.

If ye'll ne'er do the like again,

But bide at hame wi' me,

I'll lay my life I'se be the wife

That's never tak' the gee.

[ erroneously ascribed to the late Mrs. Grant of Laggan. The authoress was, near Elchies, on the river Spey, afterwards married to Dr. Murray of Bath. She was born near Aberlour about 1745, and died about 1814.]

[ by, author of a volume of poems published a dozen years ago, entitled, "The Coronal." Bet to music by John Barnett.]

Highland home, where tempests blow,

And cold thy wintry looks,

Thy mountains crown'd with driven snow,

And ice-bound are thy brooks!

But colder far the Briton's heart,

However far he roam,

To whom these words no joy impart,

My native Highland home.