The flower now fading on the lea,
Shall fresher rise to view;
The leaf just falling frae the tree,
The year will soon renew;
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave
Ere thou revivest again,
For thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
And left me here alane!
Good Allan-a-Maut lay on the rigg,
One call'd him bear, one call'd him bigg;
An old dame slipp'd on her glasses: Aha!
He'll waken, quoth she, with joy to us a'.
The sun shone out, down dropp'd the rain,
He laugh'd as he came to life again;
And carles and carlins sung who saw't,
Good luck to your rising, Allan-a-Maut.
Good Allan-a-Maut grew green and rank,
With a golden beard and a shapely shank,
And rose sae steeve, and wax'd sae stark,
He whomelt the maid, and coupit the clark;
The sick and lame leap'd hale and weel,
The faint of heart grew firm as steel,
The douce nae mair call'd mirth a faut,-
Such charms are mine, quoth Allan-a-Maut.
My hawk is tired of perch and hood,
My idle greyhound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forests green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matin ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee-
That life is lost to love and me.
Our gudewife's awa',
Now's the hour to woo,
For the lads like lasses,
And the lasses lads too.
The moon's beaming bright,
And the gowan's in dew,
And my love's by my side,
And we're a' happy now.
I have wale of loves:
Nancie rich and fair,
Bessie brown and bonnie,
And Kate wi' curling hair,
And Bell young and proud,
Wi' gold aboon her brow;
But my Jean has twa een
That glower me thro' and thro'.
Sair she slights the lads—
Three lie like to die,
Four in sorrow listed,
And five flew to the sea.
Nigh her chamber door
Lads watch a' night in dool
Ae kind word frae my love
Would charm frae yule to yule.
Our gudewife's come hame
Mute now maun I woo;
But my love's bright glances
Shine a' the chamber through.
O sweet is her voice
When she sings at her wark,
Sweet the touch of her hand,
And her vows in the dark.
Earl March look'd on his dying child,
And smit with grief to view her-
The youth, he cried, whom I exiled
Shall be restored to woo her.
She's at the window many an hour,
His coming to discover;
And her love look'd up to Ellen's bower, And she look'd on her lover.
But ah! so pale, he knew her not,
Though her smile on him was dwelling.
And am I then forgot-forgot?
It broke the heart of Ellen.
In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,
Her cheek is cold as ashes;
Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes
To lift their silken lashes.
Gay is thy glen, Corrie,
With all thy groves flowering;
Green is thy glen, Corrie,
When July is showering;
And sweet is yon wood where
The small birds are bowering,
For there dwells the sweet one
Whom I am adoring.
Her round neck is whiter
Than winter when snowing;
Her meek voice is milder
Than Ae in its flowing;
The glad ground yields music
Where she goes by the river;
One kind glance would charm me
For ever and ever.
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