The Ingle Side.
It’s rare to see the morning breeze,
Like a bonfire frae the sea;
It’s fair to see the burnie kiss,
The lip o’ the flowery lea.
An’ fine it is on green hillside,
Where hums the busy bee;
But rarer, fairer, finer far,
Is the Ingle side for me.
Glens may be gilt wi’ gowans fair,
The birds may fill the tree;
And haughs hae a’ the scented ware,
That simmer growth can gie;
But the canty hearth where cronies meet,
An’ the darling o’ our e’e,
That makes to us a warld complete—
Oh! the Ingle side for me.