Sweet is the morn of flowery May,
When incense breathes from heath and wold—
When laverocks hymn the matin lay,
And mountain peaks are bathed in gold—
And swallows, frae some foreign strand,
Are wheeling o'er the winding stream;
But sweeter to extend my hand,
And bid my Jeanie welcome hame!
Poor collie, our auld-farrant dog,
Will bark wi' joy whene'er she comes;
And baudrons, on the ingle rug,
Will blithely churm at "auld gray-thrums."
The mavis, frae our apple-tree,
Shall warble forth a joyous strain;
The blackbird's mellow minstrelsy
Shall welcome Jeanie hame again!
Like dew-drops on a fading rose,
Maternal tears shall start for thee,
And low-breathed blessings rise like those
Which soothed thy slumb'ring infancy.
Come to my arms, my timid dove!
I 'll kiss thy beauteous brow once more;
The fountain of thy father's love
Is welling all its banks out o'er!
I NEITHER GOT PROMISE OF SILLER.
Air—"Todlin' hame."
I neither got promise of siller nor land
With the bonnie wee darling who gave me her hand;
But I got a kind heart with my sweet blushing bride,
And that 's proved the bliss of my ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my dear fireside,
There 's happiness aye at my ain fireside!
Ambition once pointed my view towards rank,
To meadows and manors, and gold in the bank:
'Twas but for an hour; and I cherish with pride
My sweet lovely flower at my ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my happy fireside,
My Jeanie 's the charm of my ain fireside!
Her accents are music; there 's grace in her air;
And purity reigns in her bosom so fair;
She 's lovelier now than in maidenly pride,
Though she 's long been the joy of my ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my happy fireside,
There 's harmony still at my ain fireside!
Let the minions of fortune and fashion go roam,
I 'm content with the sweet, simple pleasures of home;
Though their wine, wit, and humour flow like a spring-tide,
What are these to the bliss of my dear fireside?
My ain fireside, my cheerie fireside,
There are pleasures untold at my ain fireside!