Menie

Again rejoicing nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues;

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,

All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?

For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk,

And winna let a bodie be.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw;

In vain to me the vi'lets spring;

In vain to me, in glen or shaw,

The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team;

Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks;

But life to me's a weary dream,

A dream of ane that never wauks.

The wanton coot the water skims;

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry;

The stately swan majestic swims;

And every thing is blest but I.

The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps,

And o'er the moorland whistles shrill;

Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step,

I meet him on the dewy hill.

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,

Blythe waukens by the daisy's side,

And mounts and sings on fluttering wings,

A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide.

Come, winter, with thine angry howl,

And raging bend the naked tree;

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul,

When nature all is sad like me.

And maun I still on Menie doat,

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e?

For it's jet-jet black, and it's like a hawk,

And winna let a bodie be.