bonie jean—a bald
to its a tune
there was a ss, and she was fair,
at kirk or arket to be seen;
when a&039; our fairest aids were t,
the fairest aid was bonie jean
and aye she wrought her aie&039;s wark,
and aye she sang sae rrilie;
the blythest bird upon the bh
had ne&039;er a lighter heart than she
but hawks will rob the tender joys
that bless the little lhite&039;s nest;
and frost will blight the fairest flowers,
and love will break the undest rest
young robie was the brawest d,
the flower and pride of a&039; the glen;
and he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
and wanton naigies ne or ten
he gaed wi&039; jeanie to the tryste,
he danc&039;d wi&039; jeanie on the down;
and, ng ere witless jeanie wist,
her heart was tt, her peace was stown!
as the bo of the strea,
the oon-bea dwells at dewy e&039;en;
treblg, pure, was tender love
with the breast of bonie jean
and now she works her aie&039;s wark,
and aye she sighs wi&039; care and pa;
yet wist na what her ail ight be,
or what wad ake her weel aga
but did na jeanie&039;s heart loup light,
and didna joy blk her e&039;e,
as robie tauld a tale o&039; love
ae e&039;eng on the lily lea?
the sun was skg the west,
the birds sang sweet ilka grove;
his cheek to hers he fondly id,
and whisper&039;d th his tale o&039; love:
“o jeanie fair, i lo&039;e thee dear;
o canst thou thk to fancy ,
or wilt thou leave thy aie&039;s t,
and learn to tent the fars wi&039; ?
“at barn or byre thou shalt na drud,
or naethg else to trouble thee;
but stray aang the heather-bells,
and tent the wavg rn wi&039; ”
now what uld artless jeanie do?
she had nae will to say hi na:
at length she bsh&039;d a sweet nsent,
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