To Willie when he’s gane awa’, to fight for hame an’ you.
Here’s a bonnie sprig o’ broom, I plucked it yander on the lea,
Pit it in the auld ha’ Bible, ’twill mind thee aft o’ me,
Ken ye weel the motto o’ the broom? ’tis “hope an’ constancy;”
An’ dinna, lass, forgit me when I am far awa’ frae thee.
Ye will roam where we hae roamed, lassie, langside the mountain rill,
An’ think how aft thegither we hae watched the brooklet fill:
Ye will miss my step come bounding ’mang the heather on the hill,
But in spirit I’ll be there, lass, an’ guard thee frae all ill.
When the moon is saftly beaming, love, an’ a’ are wrapt in sleep,