I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; I gat my death frae twa sweet een, Twa lovely een o'bonnie blue. 'Twas not her golden ringlets bright, Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, Her heaving bosom, lily-white -- It was her een sae bonnie blue. She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wyl'd; She charm'd my soul I wist na how; And aye the stound, the deadly wound, Cam frae her een so bonnie blue. But "spare to speak, and spare to speed;" She'll aiblins listen to my vow: Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead To her twa een sae bonnie blue. |