Mirk and rainy is the night;
No a stam in a' the carie;
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive on wi' winter's fury.
Fearfu' soughs the boor-tree bank;
The rifted wood roars wild and drearie;
Loud the iron yett does clank;
And cry o' howlets maks me eerie.
Aboon my breath I daurna speak,
For fear I raise your waukrife daddy;
Cauld's the blast upon my cheek;
O rise, rise, my bonnie lady!
She oped the door; she let him in;
He cuist aside his dreepin' plaidie;
Blaw your warst, ye wind and rain,
Since, Maggie, now I'm in beside ye!
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
Now, since ye're waukin', Maggie,
What care I for howlet's cry,
For boor-tree bank and warlock craigie?
Handsome Katie.
[Buchanan.—Tune, "Sleepy Maggie."]
Now winter comes, wi' breath sae snell,
And nips wi' frost the gizen'd gowan,
Yet frosty winter, strange to tell!
Has set my thrawart heart a-lowin'.
O dearest, charming Katie!
O sweetest, winsome Katie!
My heart has flown across the loan,
To dwell wi' my sweet neibor Katie.
When a' the chiels, wi' noses blae,
Creep chitt'rin' roun' the cantie ingle,
Through sleet an' snaw to Kate I gae,
Drawn wi' a whang o' Cupid's lingle.
O dearest, &c.
When our back door I gang to steek,
And bonnie Kate, frae her back winnock,
Gi'es a bit slee an' smilin' keek,
It warms me like a toasted bannock.
O dearest, &c.
To sleep I try, bat no ae wink;
(Frae hapless luve, may fate aye screen us!)
I sprawl an' fidget, whan I think
There's nought but a wee loan atween us.
O dearest, &c.
Langsyne Leander ilka night
Swam o'er the sea at Hero's biddin';
But if my Kate wad me invite,
I've nought ado but jump the midden.
O dearest, &c.
This is the night.
[Air, "Low down he's in the broom."]
This is the night my Johnny set,
And promised to be here;
O, what can stay his longing step
He's fickle grown, I fear.
Wae worth this wheel! 'twill no rin roun',
Nae mair this night I'll spin:
But count each minute wi' a sigh,
Till Johnny he steal in.
How snug that canty fire it burns,
For twa to sit beside;
And there fu' oft my Johnny sat,
And I my blushes hid.
My father how he snugly snores,
My mother's fast asleep;
He promised oft, but, oh! I fear,
His word he will not keep.
What can it be keeps him frae me?
The road it's no sae lang;
And frost and snaw is nought ava,
If fo'k were fain to gang.
Some ither lass wi' bonnier face,
Has caught his wandering e'e;
Than thole their jeers at kirk an' fair,
Oh! sooner let me dee.
O! if we lasses could but gang
And woo the lads we like,
I'd run to thee, my Johnny dear
If e'er stop at bog or dyke;
But custom's such a powerfu' thing
Men aye their will maun ha'e,
While mony a bonnie lassie sits,
And mourns from day to day.
