WHEN trees did bud, and fields were green,
And broom bloom’d fair to see;
When Mary was compleat fifteen,
And love laugh’d in her eye;
Blyth Davy’s blinks her heart did move
To speak her mind thus free,
Gang down the burn, Davie, love,
And I shall follow thee.
Now Davie did each lad surpass,
That dwelt on this burnside,
And Mary was the bonniest lass,
Just meet to be a bride;
Her Cheeks were rosie, red and white,
Her een were bonny blue;
Her looks were like Aurora bright,
Her lips like dropping dew.
As down the burn they took their way,
What tender tales they said!
His cheek to hers he aft did lay,
And with her bosom play’d;
Till baith at length impatient grown,
To be mair fully blest,
In yonder vale they lean’d them down;
Love only saw the rest.
What pass’d, I guess, was harmless play,
And naething sure unmeet,
For, ganging hame, I heard them say,
They lik’d a wa’k sae sweet;
And that they aften shou’d return
Sic pleasure to renew.
Quoth Mary, love, I like the burn,
And ay shall follow you.
– New Words by Different Hands.