At Burn, where mother’s young friends know’d
The vu’st her maïden neäme,
The zunny knaps, the narrow road
An’ green, be still the seäme;
The squier’s house, an’ ev’ry ground
That now his son ha’ zwold, O,
An’ ev’ry wood he hunted round
’S a pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.
The maïd a-lov’d to our heart’s core,
The dearest of our kin,
Do meäke us like the very door
Where they went out an’ in.
’Tis zome’hat touchèn that bevel
Poor flesh an’ blood o’ wold, O,
Do meäke us like to zee so well
The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.
When blushèn Jenny vu’st did come
To zee our Poll o’ nights,
An’ had to goo back leätish hwome,
Where vo’k did zee the zights,
A-chattèn loud below the sky
So dark, an’ winds so cwold, O,
How proud war I to zee her by
The pleäce the teäle’s a-twold o’.
Zoo whether ’tis the humpy ground
That wer a battle viel’,
Or mossy house, all ivy-bound,
An’ vallèn down piece-meal;
Or if ’tis but a scraggy tree,
Where beauty smil’d o’ wold, O,
How dearly I do like to zee
The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.
