But an' his comely marrow.
There's a cosy bield at yon burn fit,
Wi' a bourtree at the en' o't;
O, mony a day may it see yet
Ere care or canker ken o't!
The lily leans out owre the brae,
An' the rose leans owre the lily:
An' there the bonny twasome lay—
Fair Helen an' her Willy.
——Hew Ainslie.