O! welcome, lovely summer,
With her roses in full bloom;
When the cowslaps an’ the laalek
Deck the cottage home;
When the cherry an’ the berry
Give a grandeur to the charm;
And the clover and the haycock
Scent the little farm.
O! welcome, lovely summer,
Wi’ the partridge on the wing;
When the tewit an’ the moorgam,
Up fra the heather spring,
From the crowber an’ the billber,
An’ the bracken an’ the whin;
As from the noisy tadpole,
We hear the crackin’ din.
O! welcome, lovely summer.
Burns’s Centenary.
Go bring that tuther whisky in,
An’ put no watter to it;
Fur I mun drink a bumper off,
To Scotland’s darlin’ poet.
It’s just one hunderd year to-day,
This Jenewarry morn,
Sin’ in a lowly cot i’ Kyle,
A rustic bard wur born.
He kittled up his muirland harp,
To ivvery rustic scene;
An’ sung the ways o’ honest men,
His Davey an’ his Jean.
There wur nivver a bonny flaar that grew
Bud what he could admire;
There wur nivver lovely hill or dale
That suited not his lyre.
At last owd Coilia sed enough,
Mi bardy thah did sing,
Then gently tuke his muirland harp,
And brack it ivvery string.
An’ bindin’ up the holly wreath,
Wi’ all its berries red,
Shoo placed it on his noble brow,
An’ pensively shoo said:—