Lucy's flittin'

'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in,

And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year,

That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't,

And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear:

For Lucy had served in the glen a' the simmer;

She cam' there afore the flower bloomed on the pea;

An orphan was she, and they had been kind till her,

Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her e'e.

She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin';

Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin' to see:

Fare ye weel, Lucy! quo' Jamie, and ran in;

The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his e'e.

As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' the flittin',

Fare ye weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang;

She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin',

And robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang.

Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter?

And what gars the tears come sae fast to my e'e?

If I wasna ettled to be ony better,

Then what gars me wish ony better to be?

I'm just like a lammie that loses its mither;

Nae mither or friend the puir lammie can see;

I fear I ha'e tint my pair heart a'thegither,

Nae wonder the tears fa' sae fast frae my e'e.

Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon,

The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me;

Yestreen, when he ga'e me't, and saw I was sabbin',

I'll never forget the wae blink o' his e'e.

Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy!

It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see:

He could nae say mair but just, Fare ye weel, Lucy!

Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.

The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit;

The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea:

But Lucy likes Jamie,—she turn'd and she lookit,

She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see.

Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless!

And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn!

For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless,

Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return!