The Book of Scottish Song/Where Quair rins sweet

Where Quair rins sweet.

[Rev. James Nicol.—Mr. Nicol, the author of "Halucket Meg," and other songs given in this work, was born at Inverleithen, Peebleshire, on the 28th of September, 1769, and died at the manse of Traquair 5th November, 1819, in the fiftieth year of his age. Having officiated as tutor in various respectable families, he eventually succeeded to the parish of Traquair in the year 1802, on the death of the Rev. Mr. Walker, whose sister he married. Mr. Nicol was a kind amiable man, and much respected by all who knew him; he had a fine appreciation of the beauties of nature, and marked human character with a keen eye. In 1805, he published two volumes of poetry, which are well worthy of perusal; and, during the course of the publication of "The Edinburgh Encyclopedia," contributed various short articles, which are known by the signature of (N). The following song was one of his earliest productions, and was addressed to the lady who afterwards became his wife.]

Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie,
My cottage stands—it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie.

I'll watch ye wi' a lover's care,
And wi' a lover's e'e, lassie
I'll weary heaven wi' mony a prayer,
And ilka prayer for thee, lassie.

'Tis true I ha'e na mickle gear;
My stock it's unco sma', lassie;
Nae fine-spun foreign claes I wear,
Nor servants tend my ca', lassie.

But had I heir'd the British crown,
And thou o' low degree, lassie,
A rustic lad I wad ha'e grown,
Or shared that crown wi' thee, lassie.

Whenever absent frae thy sight,
Nae pleasure smiles on me, lassie;
I climb the mountain's towering height,
And cast a look to thee, lassie.

I blame the blast blaws on thy cheek;
The flower that decks thy hair, lassie,
The gales that steal thy breath sae sweet,
My love and envy share, lassie.

If for a heart that glows for thee,
Thou wilt thy heart resign, lassie,
Then come, my Nancy, come to me—
That glowing heart is mine, lassie.

Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie,
My cottage stands—it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie.

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