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Nor summer drouth alarms his fears,
Nor winter's sad decay,
No foresight mars the miller's joy,
Who's wont to sing and say,
I care for nobody, no not I,
If nobody cares for me.
Thus, like the miller, bold, and free,
Let us rejoice and sing;
The days of youth are made for glee,
And time is on the wing.
This song shall pass from me to thee,
Along this jovial ring;
Let heart and voice and all agree
To say—Long live the king.
DOWN THE BURN DAVIE.
When trees did bud and fields were green,
And broom bloom'd fair to see;
When Mary was complete fifteen,
And love laughed in her ee;
Blythe Davy's blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free,
Gang down the burn, Davie, love,
And I will follow thee.
