Fu' soon I 'll follow thee, my lassie,
Fu' soon I 'll follow thee;
Thou left me naught to covet ahin',
But took gudeness sel' wi' thee.
I look'd on thy death-cold face, my lassie,
I look'd on thy death-cold face;
Thou seem'd a lily new cut i' the bud,
An' fading in its place.
I look'd on thy death-shut eye, my lassie,
I look'd on thy death-shut eye;
An' a lovelier light in the brow of Heaven
Fell Time shall ne'er destroy.
Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie,
Thy lips were ruddy and calm;
But gane was the holy breath o' Heaven,
That sang the evening psalm.
There 's naught but dust now mine, lassie,
There 's naught but dust now mine;
My soul 's wi' thee i' the cauld grave,
An' why should I stay behin'?
THE LOVELY LASS OF PRESTON MILL.
The lark had left the evening cloud,
The dew was soft, the wind was lowne,
The gentle breath amang the flowers
Scarce stirr'd the thistle's tap o' down;
The dappled swallow left the pool,
The stars were blinking owre the hill,
As I met amang the hawthorns green
The lovely lass of Preston Mill.
Her naked feet, amang the grass,
Seem'd like twa dew-gemm'd lilies fair;
Her brow shone comely 'mang her locks,
Dark curling owre her shoulders bare;
Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth;
Her lips had words and wit at will,
And heaven seem'd looking through her een,
The lovely lass of Preston Mill.
Quo' I, "Sweet lass, will ye gang wi' me,
Where blackcocks crow, and plovers cry?
Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep,
Six vales are lowing wi' my kye:
I have look'd lang for a weel-favour'd lass,
By Nithsdale's holmes an' mony a hill;"
She hung her head like a dew-bent rose,
The lovely lass of Preston Mill.