Till clay-cauld death sall blin’ my e’e
Ye aye shall be my dearie.’
ANNE HUNTER
1742-1821
73. My Mother Bids me Bind my Hair
My mother bids me bind my hair,
With bands of rosy hue,
Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,
And lace my bodice blue.
‘For why’, she cries, ‘sit still and weep,