Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.
Wishfully I look and languish
In that bonnie face o’ thine;
And my heart it stounds wi’ anguish,
Lest my wee thing be na mine.
II.
Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty
In ae constellation shine;
To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o’ this soul o’ mine!
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing.
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine!
CXVI.
THE TITHER MOON.
To a Highland Air.
[“The tune of this song,” says Burns, “is originally from the Highlands. I have heard a Gaelic song to it, which was not by any means a lady’s song.” “It occurs,” says Sir Harris Nicolas, “in the Museum, without the name of Burns.” It was sent in the poet’s own handwriting to Johnson, and is believed to be his composition.]
I.
The tither morn,
When I forlorn,
Aneath an oak sat moaning,
I did na trow
I’d see my Jo,
Beside me, gain the gloaming.
But he sae trig,
Lap o’er the rig.
And dawtingly did cheer me,
When I, what reck,
Did least expec’,
To see my lad so near me.