logan braes
tune—“logan water.”
o logan, sweetly didst thou glide,
that day i was my willie's bride,
and years sin syne hae o'er us run,
like logan to the simmer sun:
but now thy flowery banks appear
like drumlie winter, dark and drear,
while my dear lad maun face his faes,
far, far frae me and logan braes.
again the merry month of may
has made our hills and valleys gay;
the birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
the bees hum round the breathing flowers;
blythe morning lifts his rosy eye,
and evening's tears are tears o' joy:
my soul, delightless a' surveys,