Jeanie's black e'e

The sun raise sae rosy, the grey hills adorning;

Light sprang the laverock and mounted sae hie;

When true to the tryst o' blythe May's dewie morning,

My Jeanie cam' linking out owre the green lea.

To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens:

Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black e'e;

Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree,

"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."

Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel,

Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree:

Think na, dear lassie, thy Willie's been cruel,—

"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."

Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience,

Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black e'e.—

You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean; open thae lovely een;—

"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."

Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning,

Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew;

Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning;

Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow,

O! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,

Barefit and kilted half up to the knee;

While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,—

"I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me!"

I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound;

Kiss her frae lug to lug; nae ane can see;

Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou.—"Will, I'm no sleeping now;

I was asleep, but ye've waken'd me."

Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,

Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black e'e;

And aye since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,

"Ha me mohatel na dousku me."