Page:Young Donald o' Dundee.pdf/4

 The trees are a’bare, an’ the birds mute an’ dowie, They shake the cold drift frae their wings as they flee, An’ chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie, Tis winter wi’ them, an’ ’tis winter wi’ me.

Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, An’ shakes the dark firs on the stay rocky brae, While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain, That murmur’d sae sweet to my laddie an’ me: It’s no its loud roar on the wintry win’ swellin’, It’s no the cauld blast brings the tears i’ my e’e, For, O gin I saw but my bonny Scots callan, The dark days o’ winter war’ summer to me.

was an ancient fair, O she lov’d a neat young man, And she could not throw sly looks him, But only through her Fan, With her winks and blinks, this waddling minx, Her quizzing glass, her leer and saddle, she lov’d a Bold Dragoon, With his long sword, saddle bridle whack! Row de dow dow, tal lal lal de ral de whack! Row de dow dow tal de ral de tal de ral.