song
tune—“my nanie, o.”
behind yon hills where lugar flows,
'mang moors an' mosses many, o,
the wintry sun the day has clos'd,
and i'll awa to nanie, o.
the westlin wind bws loud an' shill;
the night's baith mirk and rainy, o;
but i'll get my pid an' out i'll steal,
an' owre the hill to nanie, o.
my nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;
fu' wiles to win ye, o:
may ill befa' the fttering tongue
that wad beguile my nanie, o.
her face is fair, her heart is true;
as spotless as she's bonie, o:
the op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
nae purer is than nanie, o.
a try d is my degree,
an' few there be that ken me, o;
but what care i how few they be,
i'm wele aye to nanie, o.
my riches a's my penny-fee,
an' i maun guide it ie, o;
but warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
my thoughts are a' my nanie, o.
our auld guidman delights to view
his sheep an' kye thrive bonie, o;
but i'm as blythe that hands his pleugh,
an' has nae care but nanie, o.
e weel, e woe, i care na by;
i'll tak what heav'n will sen' me, o:
her care in life have i,
but live, an' love my nanie, o.