"Doitet bodie! auld or young, Ye needna langer tarry, Gin ane be loutin' o'er a rung, He 's no for me to marry. Gae hame an' ance bethink yoursel' How ye wad come to woo me, An' mind me i' your latter-will, Bodie, gin ye lo'e me!"
I 've seen the smiling summer flower Amang the braes of Yarrow; I 've heard the raving winter wind Amang the hills of Barra; I 've wander'd Scotland o'er and o'er, Frae Teviot to Strathbogie; But the bonniest lass that I ha'e seen Is bonnie Jean of Logie.
Her lips were like the heather bloom, In meekest dewy morning; Her cheeks were like the ruddy leaf, The bloomy brier adorning; Her brow was like the milky flower That blossoms in the bogie; And love was laughing in her een-- The bonnie lass of Logie.
I said, "My lassie, come wi' me, My hand, my hame are ready; I ha'e a lairdship of my ain, And ye shall be my ladye. I 've ilka thing baith out and in, To make you blithe and vogie;" She hung her head and sweetly smiled-- The bonnie lass of Logie!
But she has smiled, and fate has frown'd, And wrung my heart with sorrow; The bonnie lass sae dear to me Can never be my marrow. For, ah! she loves another lad-- The ploughman wi' his cogie; Yet happy, happy may she be, The bonnie lass of Logie!
I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; For, Oh! my dainty ain wife, She 's aye sae dear to me. A bonnier yet I 've never seen, A better canna be; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
Though beauty is a fadin' flower, As fadin' as it 's fair, It looks fu' well in ony wife, An' mine has a' her share. She ance was ca'd a bonnie lass-- She 's bonnie aye to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
Oh, couthy is my ingle-cheek, An' cheery is my Jean; I never see her angry look, Nor hear her word on ane. She 's gude wi' a' the neebours roun', An' aye gude wi' me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
But Oh, her looks sae kindly, They melt my heart outright, When ower the baby at her breast She hangs wi' fond delight. She looks intill its bonnie face, An' syne looks to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
O sweet is the calm dewy gloaming, When saftly by Rossie-wood brae, The merle an' mavis are hymning The e'en o' the lang summer's day! An' sweet are the moments when o'er the blue ocean, The full moon arising in majesty glows; An' I, breathing o'er ilka tender emotion, Wi' my lovely Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.