Page:The Pocket Songster.djvu/169

 Skim the loch in canty glee,

Rest the oars to pleasure thee;

When chilly breezes sweep the tide,

I'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine,

Woo in words mair saft than mine;

Lowland lads hae mair of art,

A' my boast's an honest heart,

Whilk shall ever be my pride,

To row thee in my Highland plaid!

"Bonny lad, ye've been sae leal,

My heart would break at our fareweel,

Lang your love has made me fain,

Take me—take me for your ain!"

'Cross the Firth, away they glide,

Young Donald and his Lowland bride.

winter's now awa',

Saft the westling breezes blaw,

'Mang the birks o' Stanly shaw

The mavis sings fu' cheery O;

Sweet the crawflower's early bell

Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,

Blooming like thy bonnie sel',

My young, my artless dearie O.