I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun, low
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal—
O leeze me on my spinnin'-wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot, every, brooklets
And meet below my theekit cot; thatched
The scented birk and hawthorn white birch
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest: cool