The Book of Scottish Song/Poor little Jessie

Poor little Jessie.

[James Hogg.]

O what gart me greet when I partit wi' Willie,
While at his guid fortune ilk ane was sae fain?
The neibers upbraidit, and said it was silly,
When I was sae soon to see Willie again.

He ga'e me his hand as he gaed to the river,
For oh! he was aye a kind brother to me;
Right sair was my heart frae my Willie to sever,
An' saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e.

It wasna the kiss that he ga'e me at parting,
Nor yet the kind squeeze that he ga'e to my hand,
It wasna the tear frae his blue e'e was starting,
As slaw they were shoving the boat frae the land.

The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying,
It pleased me, indeed, but it doubled my pain;
For something within me was constantly saying,
"Ah, Jessie! ye'll never see Willie again.

The bairn's unco wae to be ta'en frae its mother,
The linnet laments when bereaved o' its young,
But oh, to be reft of an only kind brother,—
That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung.

I dream'd a' the night that my Willie was wi' me,
Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain,
An' just at the dawning a friend cam' to see me,
And tell'd me I never wad see him again.

I ha'e nae body now to look kind and caress me;
I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see;
I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie;
The warld has little mair pleasure for me.

It's lang sin' I lost baith my father an' mother,
I'm simple an' poor, an' forlorn on the way;
I had ane that I likit, an only dear brother,
My Willie—but he's lying cauld i' the clay.

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