PROUD MAISIE
Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?’
‘When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.’
‘Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?’
‘The grey-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.
‘The glowworm o’er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing
Welcome, proud lady.’
A WEARY LOT IS THINE
‘A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green—
No more of me you knew.
My Love!
No more of me you knew.
‘This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.’
He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,
He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said, ‘Adieu for evermore,
My Love!
And adieu for evermore.’
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH
O lovers’ eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers’ ears in hearing;
And love, in life’s extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary’s bower
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath’s tower
To watch her love’s returning.