285. Song—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’bonie blue.
’Twas not her golden ringlets bright,
 Her lips like roses wat wi’ dew,
Her heaving bosom, lily-white—
 It was her een sae bonie blue.


She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wyl’d;
 She charm’d my soul I wist na how;
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
 Cam frae her een so bonie blue.
But “spare to speak, and spare to speed;”
 She’ll aiblins listen to my vow:
Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead
 To her twa een sae bonie blue.

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