Page:The Pocket Songster.djvu/128

 When the rude wintry win'

Idly raves round our dwelling,

And the roar of the linn

On the night breeze is swelling,

So merrily we'll sing,

As the storm rattles o'er us,

'Till the dear sheeling ring

Wi' the light lilting chorus.

Now the summer is in prime,

Wi' the flowers richly blooming,

And the wild mountain thyme

A' the moorlands perfuming;

To our dear native scenes

Let us journey together,

Where glad innocence reigns

'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.

A gang back to my mammy again,

I'll never gae back to my mammy again;

I've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,

But I'll never gang back to my mammy again.

I've held by her apron, &c.

Young Johnnie cam down i' the gloamin' to woo,

Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue;

"O come awa,' lassie, ne'er let mammy ken!"

An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen.

O come awa, lassie, &c.