Poems (Craik)/Rothesay Bay
ROTHESAY BAY.
U' yellow lie the corn-rigsFar 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.
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,
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.
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.