Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have and kiss’d The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! Bow-wow. The watch-dogs bark: Bow-wow. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!
W. Shakespeare.
[ THE LAND O’ THE LEAL]
I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean, I’m wearin’ awa’ To the land o’ the leal. There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair In the land o’ the leal.
Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task’s ended noo, Jean, And I’ll welcome you To the land o’ the leal. Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean, She was baith guid and fair, Jean; O we grudged her right sair To the land o’ the leal!
Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean, My soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o’ the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, This warld’s care is vain, Jean; We’ll meet and aye be fain In the land o’ the leal.