After a bit while, Jamie,— After a while, I heard a’ the cruel words you had said— The cruel, hard words; sae I bowed my head— Na tear—na smile—
And you took your letters, Jamie, Gathered them a’, And burnt them one by one in the fire, And watched the bright blaze leaping higher— Burnt ringlet and a’!
Then back to the world, Jamie, Laughing went I; There ne’er was a merrier laugh than mine; What foot could outdance me—what eye outshine? “Puir fool!” laughed I.
But I’m weary of mirth, Jamie, ’Tis hollowness a’; And in these long years sin’ we were parted, I fear I’m growing aye colder-hearted Than you thought ava!
I hae many lovers, Jamie, But I dinna care; I canna abide a’ the nonsense they speak— Yet I’d go on my knees o’er Arran’s gray peak To see thee ance mair!
I long for you back, Jamie, But that canna be; I sit all alone by the ingle at e’en, And think o’ those sad words: “It might have been”— Yet never can be!
D’ye think o’ the past, Jamie? D’ye think o’ it now? ’Twad be a bit comfort to know that ye did— Oh, sair, would I greet to know that ye did, My dear, dear Jamie!