I see ye sit yer lane.

Ilk morn, agin' the kindlin' sky
Yer liftit heid is black,
Ilk nicht I watch ye hameward ride
Wi' the sunset at yer back.

For wark's yer meat and wark's yer play,
Heid horseman tho' ye be,
Ye've ne'er a glance for wife nor maid,
Ye tak nae tent o' me.

An' man, ye'll no suspec' the truth,
Tho' weel I ken it's true,
There's mony ane that trails in silk
Wha fain wad gang wi' you.

But I am just a serving lass,
Wha toils to get her breid,
An' O! ye're sweir to see the gowd
I braid about my heid.

My cheek is like the brier rose,
That scents the simmer wind,
An fine I'd keep the wee bit hoose,
'Gin I'd a man to mind!

It's sair to see, when ilka lad
Is dreamin' o' his joe,
The bonnie mear that leads yer team
Is a' ye're thinkin' o'.

Like fire upon her satin coat
Ye gar the harness shine,
But, lad, there is a safter licht
In thae twa een o' mine!

Aye--wark yer best--but youth is short,
An' shorter ilka year--
There's ane wad gar ye sune forget
Yon limmer o' a mear!

JEEMSIE MILLER

There's some that mak' themsels a name
Wi' preachin', business, or a game,
There's some wi' drink hae gotten fame
And some wi' siller:
I kent a man got glory cheap,
For nane frae him their een could keep,
Losh! he was shapit like a neep,
Was Jeemsie Miller!

When he gaed drivin' doon the street
Wi' cairt an' sheltie, a' complete,
The plankie whaur he had his seat
Was bent near double;
And gin yon wood had na been strang
It hadna held oor Jeemsie lang,
He had been landit wi' a bang,
And there'd been trouble.

Ye could but mind, to see his face,
The reid mune glowerin' on the place,
Nae man had e'er sic muckle space
To haud his bonnet:
An owre yon bonnet on his brow,
Set cockit up owre Jeemsie's pow,
There waggit, reid as lichtit tow,
The toorie on it.

And Jeemsie's poke was brawly lined,
There wasna mony couldna' find
His cantie hoosie i' the wynd,
"The Salutation":
For there ye'd get, wi' sang and clink,
What some ca'd comfort, wi' a wink,
And some that didna care for drink
Wad ca' damnation!

But dinna think, altho' he made
Sae grand a profit o' his trade,
An' muckle i' the bank had laid,
He wadna spare o't,
For, happit whaur it wasna seen,
He'd aye a dram in his machine,
An' never did he meet a freen'
But got a share o't.

Ae day he let the sheltie fa'
(Whisht, sirs! he wasna' fou--na, na!
A wee thing