When trees did bud, and fields were green,and broom bloom’d fair to see,When Mary was complete fifteen,and love langh’d in her e’e;Blyth Davie's blinks her heart did move,to speak her mind thus free.Gang down the burn, Davie, love,and I shall follow thee.
Blythe Davie’s blinks, &c.
Now Davie did each lad surpass,that dwelt on the burn-side,And Mary was the bonniest lass,just meet to be a bride:Her cheeks were rosy red and white,her een were bonny blu:Her looks were like Aurora bright,her lips like dropping dew.
Her cheeks, &c.
As down the burn they took their way,what tender tales they saidHis cheek to her’s he ast did lay,and on his flute he play’d:They walk'd and talk’d till weary grown,no pair wae e’er more blest:In yonder vale they lean’d them down,and loving tales rehearst.
They walk’d, &c.
Thus chearfully these lovers lay,there nothing was unmeet:And, ganging hame, I heard them say,they lik’d a walk sae sweet;And that they often would return,such pleasure to renew:Quoth Mary, love, I like the burn,and ay shall follow you.And that they often, &c.
