Poems (Craik)/Rothesay Bay

by Dinah Maria Craik

ROTHESAY BAY.

U' yellow lie the corn-rigs  Far doun the braid hillside; It is the brawest harst field   Alang the shores o' Clyde, And I 'm a puir harst-lassie   That Stan's the lee-lang day Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg   Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

O I had ance a true-love,—  Now, I hae nane ava; And I had ance three brithers,   But I hae tint them a'; My father and my mither   Sleep i' the mools this day. I sit my lane amang the rigs   Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

It 's a bonnie bay at morning,   And bonnier at the noon, But it 's bonniest when the sun draps   And red comes up the moon: When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbrays,   And Arran peaks are gray, And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings,   Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay,

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,   And a wee tear blin's my e'e,—And I think o' that far Countrie   What I wad like to be! But I rise content i' the morning   To wark while wark I may I' the yellow harst field of Ardbeg   Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.