The Book of Scottish Song/This is the night
This is the night.
[Air, "Low down he's in the broom."]
This is the night my Johnny set,
And promised to be here;
O, what can stay his longing step
He's fickle grown, I fear.
Wae worth this wheel! 'twill no rin roun',
Nae mair this night I'll spin:
But count each minute wi' a sigh,
Till Johnny he steal in.
How snug that canty fire it burns,
For twa to sit beside;
And there fu' oft my Johnny sat,
And I my blushes hid.
My father how he snugly snores,
My mother's fast asleep;
He promised oft, but, oh! I fear,
His word he will not keep.
What can it be keeps him frae me?
The road it's no sae lang;
And frost and snaw is nought ava,
If fo'k were fain to gang.
Some ither lass wi' bonnier face,
Has caught his wandering e'e;
Than thole their jeers at kirk an' fair,
Oh! sooner let me dee.
O! if we lasses could but gang
And woo the lads we like,
I'd run to thee, my Johnny dear
If e'er stop at bog or dyke;
But custom's such a powerfu' thing
Men aye their will maun ha'e,
While mony a bonnie lassie sits,
And mourns from day to day.
But wheesht! I hear my Johnny's foot;
That's just his very clog;
He snecks the fa'-yett saftly too—
O hang that colly dog!
And now for a' thae sugar'd words,
And kisses not a few;
O, but this world's a Paradise,
When lovers they prove true.