song—my y's charms

tune—“tha a' chailleach ir mo dheigh.”

my y's face, my y's form,

the frost of hermit age might warm;

my y's worth, my y's mind,

might charm the first of human kind.

i love my y's angel air,

her face so truly heavenly fair,

her native grace, so void of art,

but i adore my y's heart.