Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/350

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THE SONGS OF BURNS.

BRAW LADS OF GALLA WATER.

TUNE—'GALLA WATER.'

CHORUS.Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;O braw lads of Galla Water!I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,And follow my love through the water.
Sae fair her hair, sae brent her brow,Sae bonie blue her een, my dearie;Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou',The mair I kiss she's ay my dearie.
O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae,O'er yon moss amang the heather;I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,And follow my love through the water.
Down amang the broom, the broom,Down amang the broom, my dearie,The lassie lost a silken snood,That cost her mony a blirt and bleary.Braw, braw lads of Galla Water;O braw lads of Galla Water:I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee,And follow my love through the water.

THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.

TUNE—'JACKY LATIN.'

Gat ye me, O gat ye me,O gat ye me wi' naething?Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,A mickle quarter basin.Bye attour, my gutcher hasA hich house and a laigh ane,A' forbye, my bonie sel',The toss of Ecclefechan.
O haud your tongue now, Luckie Laing,O haud your tongue and jauner;I held the gate till you I met,Syne I began to wander:I tint my whistle and my sang,I tint my peace and pleasure;But your green graff, now, Luckie Laing,Wad airt me to my treasure.

HEE BALOU.

TUNE—'THE HIGHLAND BALOU.'

Hee balou! my sweet wee Donald,Picture o' the great Clanronald;Brawlie kens our wanton chiefWha got my young Highland thief.
Leeze me on thy bonie craigie,An' thou live, thou'll steal a naigie:Travel the country thro' and thro',And bring hame a Carlisle cow.
Thro' the Lawlands, o'er the border,Weel, my babie, may thou furder:Herry the louns o' the laigh countree,Syne to the Highlands hame to me.

THE CARDIN' O'T.

TUNE—'SALT FISH AND DUMPLINGS.'

I coft a stane o' haslock woo',To make a coat to Johnny o't;For Johnny is my only jo,I lo'e him best of ony yet.The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't;When ilka ell cost me a groat,The tailor staw the lynin o't.
For though his locks be lyart gray,And tho' his brow be beld aboon;Yet I hae seen him on a day,The pride of a' the parishen.The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't,The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't;When ilka ell cost me a groat,The tailor staw the lynin o't.
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