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 ws loud an' shill;

the night's baith mirk and rainy, o;

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

an' owre the hill to nanie, o.

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

nae artfu' wiles to win ye, o:

may ill befa' the ttering 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.