COLD BLOWS THE WIND
Cauld blows the wind frae north to south,
And drift is driving sairly;
The sheep are couring[97] in the heugh,[98]
Oh sirs! it's winter fairly.
Now up in the morning's no' for me,
Up in the morning early;
I'd rather gae supperless to my bed,
Than rise in the morning early.
Loud rairs the blast amang the woods,
The branches tirling barely,
Amang the chimley taps it thuds,
And frost is nippin sairly.
Now up in the morning's no' for me,
Up in the morning early;
To sit a' the night I'd rather agree,
Than rise in the morning early.
The sun peeps o'er the southlan' hill,
Like ony tim'rous carlie[99];
Just blinks a wee, then sinks again,
And that we find severely.
Now up in the morning's no' for me,
Up in the morning early;
When snaw blaws into the chimley cheek,
Wha'd rise in the morning early.
Nae linties[100] lilt on hedge or bush,
Poor things, they suffer sairly;
In cauldrife[101] quarters a' the night,
A' day they feed but sparely.
Now up in the morning's no' for me,
Up in the morning early;
Nae fate can be waur,[102] in winter time,
Than rise in the morning early.
John Hamilton
248