And every time I'll milk the kine
He'll have his share—the luck be mine!
I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone,
He'll sup it when he's all alone—
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering there—
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
O me! if I'd his milk forget,
Nor cream, nor butter I would get;
Ye needna' tell—I ken full well—
On all my kine he'd cast his spell.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering there—
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
On nights when I would rest at ease,
The merry lad begins to tease;
He'll loose the kine to take me out,
And titter while I move about.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering there—
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
When all the big lads will be hunting the deer,
And no one for helping Old Callum comes near,
O who will be busy at threshing his corn?
Who will come in the night and be going at morn?
The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man—
A bodach forlorn will be threshing his corn,
The Little Old Man of the Barn.
When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep,
And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep;
When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away,
And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day.