The Book of Scottish Song/Sandyford Ha'

Sandyford Ha'.

[Andrew Park.—Air, "Laird o' Cockpen."]

Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha',
Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha';
When summer returns wi' her blossoms sae traw,
Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'.

This dwelling though humble is airy and clean,
Wi' a hale hearty wifie baith honest and bien,
An' a big room below for the gentry that ca',—
Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'.
A wooden stair leads to the attics aboon,
Whar ane can look out to his friends in the moon,
Or rhyme till saft sleep on his eyelids shall fa',—
Ye'll a' get a bidding to Sandyford ha'.

An' when a lang day o' dark care we ha'e closed,
An' our heart wi' the bitter ingredient is dozed,
We'll puff our Havana, on hope we will ca',
An' our chief guest be pleasure at Sandyford ha'.
Ye'll no need to ask me to sing you a sang,
For the wee thochtless birdies lilt a' the day lang;
The lintie, the laverock, the blackbird an' a',
Ilk' day ha'e a concert at Sandyford ha'.

There's palace-like mansions at which ye may stare,
Where Luxury rolls in her saft easy-chair,—
At least puir folks think sae,—their knowledge is sma',
There's far mair contentment at Sandyford ha'.
There's something romantic about an auld house,
Where the cock ilka morning keeps crawing fu' crouse,
An' the kye in the byre are baith sleekit an' braw,
An' such is the case at blythe Sandyford ha'.

In the garden we'll sit 'neath the big beechen tree,
As the sun dips his bright-burnish'd face in the sea,
Till night her grey mantle around us shall draw,
Then we'll a' be fu' cantie in Sandyford ha'.
At morning when music is loud in the sky,
An' dew, like bright pearls, on roses' lips lie,
We'll saunter in joy where the lang shadows £a',
'Mang the sweet-scented groves around Sandyford ha'.

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