Song

song

tune—“my nanie, o.”

behind yon hills where lugar flows,

'mang moors an' mosses many, o,

the wintry sun the day has clos'd,

and i'll awa to nanie, o.

the westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;

the night's baith mirk and rainy, o;

but i'll get my plaid an' out i'll steal,

an' owre the hill to nanie, o.

my nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;

fu' wiles to win ye, o:

may ill befa' the flattering tongue

that wad beguile my nanie, o.

her face is fair, her heart is true;

as spotless as she's bonie, o:

the op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,

nae purer is than nanie, o.

a try lad is my degree,

ahere be that ken me, o;

but what care i how few they be,

i'm wele aye to nanie, o.

my riches a's my penny-fee,

a

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