I ance knew content

I ance knew content, but its smiles are awa',

The broom blooms bonnie, an' grows sae fair;

Each tried friend forsakes me, sweet Phebe an' a',

So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair.

How light was my step, and my heart, O how gay!

The broom blooms bonnie, the broom blooms fair;

Till Phebe was crown'd our queen of the May,

When the bloom o' the broom strew'd its sweets on the air.

She was mine when the snaw-draps hung white on the lea,

Ere the broom bloom'd bonnie, an' grew sae fair;

Till May-day, anither wysed Phebe frae me.

So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair.

Sing, Love, thy fond promises melt like the snaw,

When broom waves lonely, an' bleak blaws the air;

For Phebe to me now is naething ava,

If my heart could say, "Gang to the broom nae mair."

Durst I trow that thy dreams in the night hover o'er,

Where broom blooms bonnie, and grows sae feir;

The swain (who, while waking, thou thinks of no more,)

Whisp'ring, "Love, will ye gang to the broom ony mair?"

No! Fare thee well, Phebe; I'm owre wae to weep,

Or to think o' the broom growing bonnie an' fair;

Since thy heart is anither's, in death I maun sleep,

'Neath the broom on the lea, an' the bawm sunny air.