This page has been validated.
3
Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,
Nae fitting for a yardie;
An' our norlan' thristles winna pu',
Thou wee wee German lairdie!
An' we've the trenching blades o' wier,
Wad lib ye o' yere German gear,
An' pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear,
Thou feckless German lairdie.
Nae fitting for a yardie;
An' our norlan' thristles winna pu',
Thou wee wee German lairdie!
An' we've the trenching blades o' wier,
Wad lib ye o' yere German gear,
An' pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear,
Thou feckless German lairdie.
WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH.
'Twas within a mile of Edinburgh town,
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and gay,
Kissed sweet Jenny making hay:
The lassie blush'd, and frowning cry'd,
Na, na, it winna do;
I canna, canna, winna, winna, manna buckle to.
In the rosy time of the year,
Sweet flowers bloom'd, and the grass was down,
And each shepherd woo'd his dear.
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and gay,
Kissed sweet Jenny making hay:
The lassie blush'd, and frowning cry'd,
Na, na, it winna do;
I canna, canna, winna, winna, manna buckle to.
Jockie was a wag that never wad wed,
Tho' lang he had follow'd the lass,
Contented she earn'd and ate her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass.
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free,
Won her heart right merrily.
Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cry'd,
Tho' lang he had follow'd the lass,
Contented she earn'd and ate her brown bread,
And merrily turn'd up the grass.
Bonnie Jockie, blythe and free,
Won her heart right merrily.
Yet still she blush'd, and frowning cry'd,
