my nanie's awa

tune—“there'll never be peace till jamie es hame.”

now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,

and listens thembkins that bleat o'er her braes;

while birds warble weles in ilka green shaw,

but to me it's delightless—my nanie's awa.

the snawdrap and primrose our woonds adorn,

and violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn;

they pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they w,

they mind me o' nanie—and nanie's awa.