7
Although the lad the plaid who wore,
Is now upon a distant shore;
And cruel seas between us roar,
I’ll mind the plaid that sheltered me.
The lad that gied me’t likes me weel,
Although his name I darna tell,
He likes me just as weel’s himsel’,
And O the plaid is dear to me.
O may the plaidie yet be worn,
By Caledonians yet unborn;
Ill fa’ the wretch that e’er doth scorn,
The plaidie that’s sae dear to me.
OF A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW.
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly loe the west,
For there the bonny lassie lives,
The lassie I loe best.
Though wild-woods grow, and rivers row
Wi’ mony a hill between,
Baith day and night my fancy’s flight
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flower,
Sae lovely, sweet and fair;
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi’ music charm the air.
There’s no a bonnie flower that springs,
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonny bird that sings,
But minds me o’ my Jean.
