Page:Twa weavers.pdf/7

7 Here’s to the soger wha bled,

An' the sailor wha bravely did fa':

Though their fame is alive, yet their spirits are fled,

On the wings of the year that’s awa.

Though their fame is alive, &c.

Here’s to the friend we can trust,

While the storms of adversity blaw;

May they live in our song, and be nearest our hearts,

Nor depart like the year that’s awa.

May they live, &c.





I GAED A WAEFU’ GATE YESTREEN.

I gaed a waefu’ gate yestreen,

A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue;

I gat my death frae twa sweet een,

Twa lovely een o’ bonnie blue.

’Twas not her golden ringlets bright,

Her lips like roses, wat wi’ dew,

Her heaving bosom lily white;

It was her een sae bonnie blue.

She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wil’d,

She charm’d my soul, I wistna how;

And aye the stound, the deadly wound,