The Book of Scottish Song/O'er the muir 2

O’er the muir.

[This is another set of "O'er the muir amang the heather," and was written by Stewart Lewis, a native of Ecclefechan, and by trade a tailor, who died in 1818, at an advanced age. He published a small volume of poems, in which, if we mistake not, he claims for his song priority of date to Jean Glover's. For many years before his death, he was a wanderer over the country, partly supporting himself by the sale of his poems, but mainly dependent on the casual assistance of the benevolent.]

Ae morn of May, when fields were gay,
Serene and charming was the weather,
I chanc'd to roam some miles frae home,
Far o'er yon muir, amang the heather.
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs,
And brush the dew from vernal heather.

I walk'd along and humm'd a song,
My heart was light as ony feather,
And soon did pass a lovely lass,
Was wading barefoot thro' the heather!
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
The bonniest lass that e'er I saw,
I met ae morn amang the heather.

Her eyes divine, mair bright did shine,
Than the most clear unclouded aether;
A fairer form did ne'er adorn
A brighter scene than blooming heather.
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
There's ne'er a lass in Scotia's isle,
Can vie with her amang the heather.

I said, "Dear maid, be not afraid;
Pray, sit you down, let's talk together;
For, O! my fair, I vow and swear,
You've stole my heart amang the heather."
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
Ye swains, beware of yonder muir,
You'll lose your hearts amang the heather.

She answer'd me, right modestly,
"I go, kind Sir, to seek my father,
Whose fleecy charge, he tends at large,
On yon green hills, beyond the heather."
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather.
Were I a king, thou shou'dst be mine,
Dear blooming maid amang the heather.

Away she flew out of my view,
Her home or name I ne'er could gather,
But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine
For that sweet lass amang the heather.
O'er the muir amang the heather,
O'er the muir amang the heather,
While vital heat glows in my heart,
I'll love the lass amang the heather.

---